Definitely Maybe
by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl
Summary: Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu
1. Definitely Straight

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary: **

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

**A/N: Edited version. **

* * *

**Chapter 1: Definitely Straight**

Okay, so here's the deal.

I am most definitely straight. Like, _definitely_ definitely. Not the _definitely_ as in I-don't-really-mean-it-but-you're-forcing-me-to-say-it definitely; but as in, well and truly, I am definitely straight. I like girls. I like their curves, the way they think, the way they flirt. Everything. My sexuality's been tried and tested, and it's come out on top. No pun intended.

In fact, I even have a girlfriend to prove it. And since we're on the topic, I might throw out there that I've had a boyfriend too, but the only good he did was to convince me that guys really aren't for me. Not that I think Gaara is for anyone, but that's not for me to decide. He might find someone.

But I digress.

So since we've cleared that up, I can proceed with my story without any big blank gaps.

It's the start of Grade 12, last year of high school before we jettison off to Uni with big air bubbles in our brains. First day. Always the worst. First day is when the teachers feel they have to prove a point, and that point is that their subject is the most important (but really, who cares about Maths C? I mean, really. No-one.). So first day is when you get the truckloads of homework, which you actually need to do, because first week is when the teachers check. After first week, they don't give a goddamn whether you pass or fail, as long as you pay the school fees.

This year is no different. Mr Hatake is up in front of the class scribbling illegibly on a whiteboard, Shikamaru in the front row looks just about to hit the desk snoring, and the crows outside are screaming over food scraps. The usual. Me, I'm just about to do a Shikamaru as well. There's only so much Othello you can decipher before you allow the language overload to knock you into Dreamland. Only Sakura next to me seems to be taking anything in, but then again she's like a sponge, always listening to teachers, getting all the top marks. She doesn't let the schoolwork snuff out her social life either; she has plenty of time for movies and shopping and Facebook. She's beautiful, she's perfect, her dress sense is impeccable, and she has the greatest personality.

By the way, did I mention she was my girlfriend?

(Well, I have now.)

As soon as I start nodding off (don't blame me, blame the teacher), she turns and nudges me in the side with her elbow. It hurts like hell.

"Nng-huh?"

(Yes, I know, King of Wit right here.)

"Don't, Naruto, it's only the first day. How are you going to get anything above a B if he catches you snoring on the first day?"

"Ugh, it's his choice whether I sleep or not, not me," I say defensively.

She quirks an eyebrow. "_His_ choice? Last time I looked, it was your head hitting the desk, not his."

"He chooses whether the lesson is interesting or not. Right now, he's chosen 'uninteresting'. Therefore, I sleep. QED."

I earn a sharp cuff to the back of my head for my smart-ass comment, which hurts all the more because I hadn't seen it coming. Being Sakura's boyfriend can be an Occupational Health and Safety nightmare. I probably should get insurance for my dwindling brain cell count.

"Hey, come on, babe, no need to pull out the boxing gloves."

"Then don't fail again this year, alright? You have to have at least an OP5 to get to UQ with me, okay?"

UQ. University of Queensland. You see, I love Sakura so much that I've made a pact with her: wherever she goes, I go. And the way Sakura is going right now, she's headed straight for a top-of-the-state OP1, which will probably land her in UQ doing Medicine. Considering the fact that I failed two of my subjects last year, it'll be tough going for me to live up to my promise. But really, last year I didn't try. This year, I'll pull through. You see? Optimism is good.

"Okay, fine, I won't sleep. I've missed all of Hatake's notes so far, though, so –"

I'm interrupted by the lunch bell, followed by a spontaneous eruption of students from their seats. I'm one of them. Hatake turns and blinks at us with his single visible eye, his other and the lower half of his face obscured by a mask. I don't think he cares whether we wait for him to finish teaching or not, he probably wants us out of here as much as we do. Sakura frowns at me disapprovingly as I stretch, face split with a yawn, and then begin to gather up my books.

"Naruto, you're gonna be a drop-out," she says, arms folded across her chest. Unlike the rest of the class, she's the only one still seated.

"Hey, don't take life so seriously." I bend down to kiss her cheek, sneakily trailing my hand over her side to tickle her at the same time. She shrieks and bats my hand away, but the next time I look she's smiling again.

"Damn you, Uzumaki," she says as she starts to pack up, but I hear the smile in her words.

I laugh, shoving my pencil into my pant pocket. "Damn you too, Haruno."

"Had enough courtship time there, you two? Can we move on outside, or do we have to wait the ritual out?"

I roll my eyes as my best friend, Kiba, bounces up next to me, a mock-irritated look on his face. His brown hair is piled messily on his head and his books are dog-eared already. His uniform looks like it's been through a corn crusher and the less said about his shoes the better. The Marshall will be onto him soon, not that he'll care.

"Shut up, Kiba," Sakura retorts, tucking her chair in. "You're just jealous."

"Of what? Getting my head bashed in every five minutes?"

Like me, Kiba has a smart mouth. Like me, Sakura has unwritten permission to bash him up whenever she has the whim, but unlike me, Kiba has better reflexes and can dodge most of the incoming missiles before they land a hit. This time, however, he hasn't had a whole term to practise (it's only the first day of school) and he ends up howling, with a bump the size of Mt Everest on his head from Sakura's pencil case.

"Hey! Abuse! Rape!"

"Oh, shut up," I say, grabbing his elbow and yanking him out of the classroom, a fuming Sakura in tow. "You're wasting lunch. I'm starving."

He rubs his head, whining like a dog. "You're starving? I'm getting clobbered to death by your girlfriend, and all you can think of is your own stomach? That's harsh, man. I'm cut."

"If you ever need it, you can borrow my razor," I say.

The corridors are crowded with Juniors rushing about aimlessly. The Grade 8's are particularly bad; most are new, fresh out of Primary School, and have that I'm-so-cool-I-graduated-into-Senior-School swagger about them. Most don't yet reach my shoulder, and their maturity's about there on me too. There's so many of them, the Tuckshop line is choked full. I decide to go with my packed lunch, but Kiba opts for a Cafeteria ham and cheese toastie, so me and Sakura leave him in the line ("Hey, you can't just ditch me, man!") and go to the Old Jacaranda.

The Old Jacaranda's where our group's been sitting since... well, since ever. In spring, it breaks out in beautiful purple blossoms that drift down with the wind, leaving a sweeping lavender carpet on the grass where we sit. The branches are long and the rain doesn't get us. We're on a hill too, so the water drains and we don't get soggy butts. There's a nice view of the Oval, so on Carnival days we don't even have to move to get a glimpse of the action. The hill is quite steep though, and last year a Junior tripped on a tree root and went hurtling down it head first, spraining an ankle and breaking two ribs. We're not that stupid, though that's a stretch with someone like Kiba.

The gang's already there by the time me and Sakura arrive, with Kiba the obvious exception. My customary seat in the circle, the one nestled in against the tree trunk itself, has been left empty for me. I drop into it.

"Ugh, I should've dropped Physics," TenTen mumbles.

"I hope that conclusion has nothing to do with my arrival," I say playfully, unwrapping my homemade cheese sandwich. The sun is out full-tilt, and I shuffle backwards to avoid the glare from the Reception Block windows.

"Nah, though it sucks how I'm not in your class. Guess I'm stuck with Neji for another year."

Neji looks up from his pasta salad, his fork poised. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"At least you guys don't have Asuma," drawls Shikamaru. Considering he's two metres away in the grass, on his back with his arms over his face, it's a miracle we can still hear him.

"What's wrong with Asuma? I heard he's a genius with Quantum Physics. Didn't he work for the government a few years ago?"

"Got kicked out, didn't he, though?"

"Dunno what you're talking about, Chouji, the guy told our class he quit."

"Why would you quit a government job?" Sakura muses. She's met with incredulous stares, and rushes to elaborate. "No, I mean, at least you have job security. And constant promotions."

"Who on earth told you that?" Neji says. "My dad doesn't get constant promotions, or else we wouldn't be here. We'd be somewhere in Barbados, catching some proper sun."

I snort into my sandwich. For some reason, the notion of Neji on a beach somewhere, "catching sun", strikes me as ridiculously funny. Neji's the kind of guy who does his hair every morning, gets sunburn every other day and knows the periodic table off by heart. Not a nerd – no way – but definitely not the "catching sun" type.

"Perhaps not Barbados," says Hinata shyly from her cousin's side. She pulls her knees under her chin, staring meekly at the ground. "Maybe Japan somewhere. That would be nice. All the cherry blossoms and things."

"Japan, eh?"

Kiba's back. He's already demolished half of his long-anticipated sandwich in the short walk from the Tuckshop to the Jacaranda and he's licking the grease off his fingers.

"I'd take you there, Hinata," he says. "Just you and me."

Sakura rolls her eyes, pausing momentarily in her eating to fix Kiba with a you-are-such-an-idiot look. "Yeah, real smooth there, Kiba. Real smooth. Great way to get a girl."

Hinata turns a bright shade of pink. Kiba opens his mouth to retort (probably with the F-word thrown in somewhere) but I beat him to the chase, jogging his elbow and yanking on his trouser leg to get him to sit down.

"Quit it, Kiba, you know it's true."

"Hey, man, you're not supposed to take a girlfriend's side over your best friend."

Sakura puts her Tupperware down and throws her arms around me, almost knocking me over. "It's 'cause he loves me, dumbass." She smiles at me. "Don't you, Naru-chan?"

It's strange how Sakura calls me that. She's never lived a day in Japan all her life. Last time I asked her about it, she said that she'd done Japanese in Primary and so was used to sticking Japanese suffixes on the ends of things.

"Of course I love you," I say, pecking her on the cheek while Kiba makes retching motions.

"Geez," he says when I pull away. "You two are insane. Get a room already."

"Hey Kiba," Ino cuts in from her seat next to TenTen, probably to stop Sakura overheating (she's got that furious look on her face already); "You seen the new exchange student yet?"

It works. You can almost hear Kiba's attention go whooshing away from Sakura and onto Ino. Kiba's really good with new students, and great at making friends. If there's a newbie, chances are Kiba's already on best-mate terms with him.

"What exchange student?"

"What's-his-name. The hot one."

"Oh quit it, Ino," says Chouji irritably. "He looks like someone's rolled him in black paint."

Ino pulls a handful of grass out by the blades and throws them at Chouji's head, showering TenTen with dirt in the process.

"Just 'cause he's sophisticated. You're just jealous, Chouji."

"Just 'cause he's probably _suicidal_," Chouji mutters. Luckily for him, Ino doesn't hear.

"Black paint? I haven't seen anyone with black paint."

"Don't be an idiot, Kiba," Sakura snaps. "He doesn't actually have black paint. It's Chouji's way of saying he's suicidal and depressed and all-round Emo."

Kiba blinks. "Oh. Right. Well, why didn't you say so, man?"

"I guess he overestimated your cranial capacity," I sigh, scrunching up my sandwich crusts and standing up. As I do so, the end-of-lunch bell rings; back to lessons, and back to boredom. I look down at Sakura's shock of pink hair, and resist the urge to laugh. It didn't really matter whether I fell asleep in class or not; I had Sakura; I had Kiba; and I had my circle of friends. I had this frame of reference, this school, everything that was familiar.

What on Earth can possibly go wrong?

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**A/N: Yes, I know. Another Konoha-High-esque FanFic (as if we don't have enough of them already). But I just had to write this, it came splurging right out of me during my Exam Block – it's what happens when I'm under stress, I develop Naruto-schizophrenia – so here it is. Plot? Hmm. Well, you'll just have to wait and see if I have/develop one, because right now I'm in Exam fever and plots... don't come easily, let's just say. There will be SasuNaru, however (I've already warned you in the Summary, and if you can't tell from the name of this Chapter what Sasuke and Naruto's future relationship will be... then I have nothing to say to you).**

**Next update will probably be in a week or two, no guarantees though. Like I said, I'm in exams.**

**Another thing, I'm borrowing characters from Naruto, not necessarily plot. And anyway, I haven't seen Shippuden, so my plot-instincts aren't that up-to-date in the first place. So if somebody dies in the real Naruto or whatever, I'm not saying it'll happen in this Fic, because frankly, I'll have absolutely no clue that they died anyway.**

**Just warning you, that's all! beams**

**Anyway, love you all lots for reading, but now that you're here anyway, PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!**

**See ya next time!**

**EDIT: I NOW HAVE A PLOT FOR THIS FIC. STICK AROUND FOR IT... mwah haha**

**SASUKE COMING UP IN NEXT CHAPTER.**


	2. The New Exchange Student

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

**A/N: Sasuke's in this Chappie! Yay!! dances around in sheer happiness**

**Please review!**

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**Chapter 2: The New Exchange Student**

"How was your day at school, honey?"

I dump my school bag on my bed, flopping onto the covers and combing the hair out of my eyes with my fingers. "Fine, Mum," I yell, simply because she won't be able to hear me otherwise. "Ton of homework, though."

"Need help?"

"Nah, I'm good. Got any food though?"

My door opens and she's standing there, arms crossed over her aproned chest. I turn my head to look at her through my hair and she gestures at my desk, a good-natured smirk on her lips.

"You're always hungry," she says as I roll onto my stomach and army-crawl my way across the bed, into grabbing distance of the bowl of fruit on the desk.

"Hey, I'm growing." There's an apple and two bananas. I ignore the bananas and take a bite out of the apple, putting the bowl back. "Sakura's having a party this Friday, can I borrow the car?"

"Just don't crash it."

I give her my best innocent look. "Now, would I do that?"

She raises an eyebrow sceptically. "You've done worse," she says, turning back to the kitchen.

It's true. Last time I borrowed the car I got drunk at Kiba's and ended up running it off the Centenary Highway exit, straight into a bus-stop sign. The sign's still there, bent halfway to the ground, with a swipe of black paint on the pole at bellybutton height from the car. Guess the Council was too lazy to fix it, but considering the damage I did that time, I'm surprised my Mum still lets me out of the house.

I throw my apple core into the bin and am just about to pull myself off the bed to begin my homework (Sakura made me promise I'd do it before school finished), when my cell phone buzzes loudly in my pocket. Since I'm pretty much lying on top of it, the damn thing going off almost shocks me right off the bed. I roll over again, grab the phone, and wrench it out.

"What?" I snap crossly.

"Naru-chan?" It's Sakura. I sit up, cross mood forgotten. "Listen, I know this is late notice, but did you write down what our Japanese homework was?"

"Exercise 1A, I think. Why? I thought you had it too. Considering it's you."

"Nah, Ino was talking to me. Damn. 1A, is it? I don't have my textbook here. I left it at school."

"No problem. I'll scan the page and send it to you."

"My computer's broken."

I burst out laughing, leaning back against the wall. The last time her computer "broke", it turned out that Kiba had unplugged the keyboard input cord as revenge for Sakura having accidentally wiped clean his USB. "Are the cords plugged in?"

"Yes! As a matter of fact, they are, unless Kiba has stolen in and unplugged them again during the two minutes that I've been on the phone to you. I've even checked the power plug and the monitor power button. Everything's fine. Look, can you drop by sometime tonight and –"

"You want me to photocopy the page for you."

"Well, yes. Is that okay?"

I bite my lip. "Hang on a sec. I don't have a photocopier. How about I finish the homework, then drop my book off at your place, and then you can give it back to me tomorrow at school?"

"Is that okay?" she says again.

"No, Sakura, it's not okay, that's why I offered in the first place. I'll get it to your letterbox by seven – that way, if you're not in, I'm not wandering aimlessly around outside your house."

"Okay. Right. I'll ignore your sarcasm because you're doing me a favour."

"Love you too."

She sighs with exaggerated drama, and I hear her tapping her nails. "How did you ever get a girlfriend like me, Naru-chan?" she asks playfully.

"With great luck," I say, laughing. "Alright, see you in a while."

"See you, babe."

* * *

She's not in when I drive past an hour later, so I shove Mirai Book III into her brick letterbox and stand back to stare at her house. It's huge, with broad, sweeping verandas on all four facets; ivy crawls jaggedly up the red brick, framing the French windows. Her bedroom is the one on the East side, with a small balcony outside the closed wood slat door. They have a dog, a loud, thick-shouldered Alsatian – I found out last year when I tried to pull a Romeo-and-Juliet moment and climb her balcony. Luckily, her parents weren't in at the time, but Sakura had been worried for an hour afterward that the housekeeper would have a heart attack.

I step back against my car to get a fuller view. Sakura's rich – it's obvious in the perfectly pruned rose bushes around the fences, flourishing despite the heat, and the larger-than-my-house indoor swimming pool behind the garage – and I'm grateful again that I have her. Thankfully, her parents are modern and believe in young love, or else she probably would have been encouraged to find some wealthier, better-suited boyfriend than me. I stare at her closed window for a while, rocking on my heels for almost five minutes, before sighing and getting back into my car.

I've only just choked up the ignition when the sound of screeching tires echoes behind me. I stop, punch off my radio and hang still for a moment, listening. Best to be careful; you never know when some coked-up high school maniac might decide to burn rubber down your street. Five minutes pass and I'm just about to punch the radio back on when –

– someone wrenches open the passenger door.

"What the fu –"

"Drive. Now."

I stare at the boy as he piles into my car like a badly shuffled deck of cards, limbs and jackets and jeans all over the place. My first thought is – _he's bleeding_ – and my next thought is – _what the fuck!_

"What are you doing?!"

"Drive."

"Get out of my car!"

He's amazingly calm for someone who looks like he's just been taken to with a baseball bat. Blood is running in crimson rivets down his neck, staining my seat covers, but that's not really my primary concern at the moment.

"Who are you?! You're fucking bleeding!"

"No shit," he says. "Now drive, if you don't want them to do you too. They should be on Savages Street right now. I'd start moving if I were you."

"What –"

"Listen. You can hear them."

I stop. It's true. I can hear the tires again, and they're only one or two streets away. The sudden realisation that I'm in Brookfield – all acreage properties, Sakura's neighbours at least a kilometre away – hits me and I swear under my breath. If anything happens, I can scream like a stuck pig (not that I'm a sissy, but you do need to think about these sorts of things), and no-one in the world will hear me. And besides, I don't want to get into a brawl right outside Sakura's house. Best to get moving, edge into Ashgrove, maybe.

But I'm not alone.

"Look, I'm going to drive to Ashgrove, okay?" I say jerkily as I back up the car and ease it off the Harunos' driveway and into the street. "You can get out there. Whoever the hell you are. I don't want anything to do with you."

"Hn."

The screeching tires have hit the corner of Savages and Sentinel streets. I floor the accelerator, wincing slightly as Mum's second-hand Corolla bucks and whines before taking off down the street like a horse on steroids. Brookfield's a mountain district, with sharp bends and a twenty metre drop onto someone else's chook pen if you miss the road. Hardly a good place to be going at seventy an hour. I sneak a glance at my companion before slowing down, at the same time wanting desperately to hit a hundred and get myself out of here.

"Get onto Waterworks Road. That will get you straight to Ashgrove."

"I know," I snap, cutting the wheel. "I'm not stupid. Just be glad I didn't kick your ass straight out into the ravine down there."

To my surprise, he laughs. He actually laughs, at a time like this, in someone else's car, with blood pouring off his face. "You wouldn't be able to."

I check my rear-view, and my heart leaps a beat as I catch headlights some thirty metres or so behind. Damn situation just keeps getting worse. I round another hairpin bend, my stomach skittering as my body heaves to the right. My headlights are bouncing all over the place, since the road isn't smooth, and I can't really see what's in front of me at the speed I'm going. I glance at my speedometer. I've somehow inched back to eighty-five, without even consciously touching the accelerator.

"Slow down, you'll take us over."

"Shut up!" I yell. Not in the mood for advice at the moment, especially not from some retard who's just invited himself into my car. I check the rear-view again, and am slightly surprised to see that the headlights that were there a moment ago are gone. That surprise soon changes back into panicked jumpiness as I realise that the only reason why I can't see them, is that they're still around the corner; about two seconds later, the headlights are there again, and gaining.

"Goddammit," I choke out from between clenched teeth. "Can't this stupid piece of junk go any faster?"

"Left."

"Didn't I tell you to –"

"Left," he says again in that irritatingly calm voice of his. "Or else you'll miss Waterworks."

I bite my tongue and take the turn, ignoring the Stop sign and ploughing straight onto Waterworks. About twenty or so car horns announce my arrival. It's seven-thirty, or around about, and the street is packed with people driving home or venturing out to the swanky eateries on Hamilton. The car manages to get about thirty metres down Waterworks Road before getting trapped behind a red light. I'm tempted to run it, but I'm not particularly keen on arriving home in a body bag, so I wait it out. It seems like an hour before the thing goes green again.

"I'm taking a turn, then you can get out, alright?"

He's not looking at me; instead, he's staring out the passenger window. I reign in the urge to brake the car – he's not wearing a seatbelt, it would be satisfying to watch him go out through the windscreen – and instead swerve the Corolla drunkenly into a side street, narrowly missing a parked car.

"Did you hear me –"

"Is this your car?"

Why does he have to keep cutting me off?!

"Yes, of course it's my car, thank-you very much!"

"Get a new one."

I brake. Luckily there are no cars behind, or else I'd have more to worry about than bloody seat covers.

"And why would I do that?" I say coolly, breathing as deeply as I can through my nose to avoid committing homicide.

He opens the car door – an action that takes me by surprise. For some reason, I hadn't expected him to willingly get out of my car.

"Because they'll have your car plate by now. Get a new car. Unless you want to get involved."

He slams the door closed; the next moment he's gone, as if he'd never existed. I stare at the empty seat, my eyes resting absently on the three thick bloodstains on the fabric.

_Get a new car. Unless you want to get involved._

This is insane.

I take a moment to clear my head; check behind me for headlights; tell myself I'm being a paranoid idiot, before turning Mum's Corolla towards home.

* * *

"Are you okay, Naruto? You look... tired."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say distractedly.

Neji knows me too well to accept that comment at face value. He bends closer to avoid detection by Mr Umino, his long brown hair brushing my Maths textbook.

"Come off it. If you expect me to believe that, you're thicker than I thought."

"I'm fine," I repeat, keeping my eyes on my Calculus. "Slept funny last night, is all. Not used to getting up this early."

He gives me a weird look. "Don't you get up at five-thirty every day anyway? Morning person, or something like that?"

I sigh, not replying. Thing is, I couldn't get to sleep last night; had about three hours at most, which is so near nothing for me that it counts as nothing anyway. And those three hours were full of – _replays_ – so that the whole night was just a bad, half-surreal blur of past and present like a faulty newsreel on loop. That boy's face; his blood; his low, cold voice; everything seems etched onto the inside of my skull, hovering just behind my eyes like a persistent migraine.

_Get a new car. Get a new car. Unless you want to get – _

" – involved, guys, I don't want to be the kind of teacher who just stands up the front and talks at you! I want participation! I want interaction!" (**A/N: Gah, just realised this sounds remarkably Gai-like... hmm.**)

I throw up my hand, too irritated to listen any longer.

"Mr Umino?"

He blinks at me, as if shocked that someone would respond to his wishes so soon. "Yes... Naruto?"

"Can we just have our Semester Plans? Please?"

He flushes. He's a new teacher, fresh out of Uni, I can tell simply by his enthusiasm and the way he handles things. I feel bad for dampening his first class with us, but I'm not in the mood to be charitable. Before he can reply, someone knocks on the classroom door, and while he busies himself in opening it, Neji nudges me in the side.

"No, seriously, Naruto, you look really down. And you're taking the piss out of the teacher, which means something's up."

I can't keep it in any longer. "Okay, look. Last night I went to Sakura's place to drop off –"

"Shh," Ino hisses suddenly from her spot on my left. "New student! The hot one! Shh!"

I give up. All the girls in the class are whispering, and Ino can hardly sit still. Honestly, what is with girls going nuts over a semi-good-looking guy? I roll my eyes at my Mathematics for Queensland 12 B and look up, prepared to see –

– not this.

"Shit," I breathe, staring.

It's him. The boy from last night, the boy who'd told me to turn left or else I'd miss Waterworks. He's right here. Right now.

"And this is our new exchange student from Michigan!" Umino is saying, former embarrassment forgotten. "His name is Sasuke Uchiha. Please make him welcome!"

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**A/N: Okay, so here is where I say thank-you to those who reviewed...**

**AND FUME OVER THOSE WHO DIDN'T!!**

**I mean, come on guys, 60 hits resulting in 2 reviews?! You can do better than that! Please?? You don't have to like what I write; just tell me what you didn't like, some constructive criticism as to how I could improve, you know the drill. Or even a "Hey, I'm reading" kind of review, I don't mind them, you have no idea (or maybe you do) of how good it feels to know someone is actually reading your work. So please, don't forget to review this time round, okay? puppy eyes**

**Right. Now I can deal with some other things.**

**Firstly, you might have noticed that I've altered the Fic's Summary (or you might have not, either way, whatever). That's because I have a better idea now of where this Fic is going, so I want the Summary to reflect that.**

**Secondly, to save some confusion – I should have written this in the last Chapter, but I forgot – this Fic is set in Brisbane, Australia, because I want to keep the setting alive and real and since I live in Brisbane, it's the easiest setting to use. Tell me if you think the setting works, or whether my portrayal is authentic or not, in a review! :D**

**Thirdly, YESSSS!! SASUKE'S FINALLY IN THE PICTURE!! Not a big bit in the picture yet, but it'll be full-on Sasuke in the next Chapter (which I'm still writing). And so the games begin... haha... I know how much you all love him, so stick around for more of him! (Ha, I loved writing this Chapter, so entertaining...)**

**Anyway, that's all from me, folks, stick around!**

**PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!**

'**Til next time! wink**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**


	3. What You Don't Understand

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

* * *

**Chapter 3: What You Don't Understand**

Now that it's not dark and his face is not bloody, I can take a better look at him.

He's taller than me – the fact surprises me somehow, though it shouldn't, considering I'm no giant myself – and his figure is slim and lithe, though not of the beanpole variety. With his hands shoved into his uniform pockets and his back slouched just slightly, he looks sullen and brooding. His eyes are hidden under his hair; black hair, as black and thick as oil, which he's spiked up rebelliously at the back; and the deep black cuts a striking contrast with the pale, tapering curve of his cheekbone. The smooth line of his jaw somehow reminds me of Michelangelo's David. His uniform is missing a tie and the top button is undone; the shirt is only semi-tucked, and has obviously not been ironed; and for some reason, his shirt sleeves have been torn off jaggedly, so that white threads hang unevenly over the tops of his arms. A thick, black leather choker with a bulky silver clasp is clamped around his neck (for a ridiculous moment I mistake it for a dog collar), and his trousers are too long for him, falling over the sides of his scuffed black school shoes. His belt is spiked like a medieval mace, and hangs dangerously low on his hips.

"Oh God," Ino whispers. "He's... beautiful."

"Black paint," Kiba reminds her loudly from the back of the classroom. He's immediately shushed by twenty or so rabid fangirls, Ino included.

The disturbance causes him – _him_ – to look up. Properly. For the fraction of two seconds, his eyes sweep contemptuously over the crowd of star-struck girls; his mouth twists into an irritated slash; and suddenly I know exactly what's going to happen next.

Our eyes meet.

I freeze. He freezes too, like a deer in headlights. For what seems like the better half of an hour, he stares at me, and I can almost see in his eyes a direct reflection what's sliding through my mind at the moment.

_What is he doing here?!_

"Uh... Naruto?"

I jerk away from his black gaze and my stunned eyes meet Ino's suspicious blue ones.

"Y-yes? What?"

She squints at me. "What was with that?"

A sinking feeling is gaining in my stomach. "What was with what?"

"You were staring at him," Neji interrupts matter-of-factly. His voice is as crisp as glass, but nowhere near as transparent.

"No I wasn't."

"In denial," Neji mutters, shaking his head and turning away.

"I wasn't!"

"Prove it."

"How am I supposed to prove it?!"

Ino and Neji exchange glances and nod.

"In denial," they say in unison.

"Oh, fuck you," I snap, annoyed. "You're both acting like girls. He's a new student; I'm allowed to be curious, right? Right?" (**A/N: Haha curious haha**)

"Whatever." Ino doesn't look convinced, and I don't blame her.

Time for a distraction.

"But I do know where you girls are coming from. He has nice eyes. For a guy," I add quickly, because I'm drawing glances. "You know what I mean. If they were on a chick, I'd fall for them."

"Keep digging," says Neji out of the corner of his mouth, as Umino says something else irrelevant at the front of the room and _he_ goes and sits in a seat in the back row.

"Oh shut up," I mumble miserably, sinking lower in my seat. I wish this lesson was over. I can feel his stare pricking the back of my neck and it unnerves me, reminds me of when Gaara... I shiver, not particularly wanting to relive the memories at the moment. To take my mind off him, I pick up my pacer and attempt to do some Maths.

It doesn't work. Derivatives and formulae are coming to me as easily as boulders through mud. After five minutes of fruitless struggling I throw my pacer down, rake my hands through my hair, and chance a glance – as casual as I can – around the classroom.

Ino's flirting with a boy in the row behind, with her chair turned backward and her high ponytail facing the whiteboard. So predictable. Neji's probably the only person who's doing anything remotely productive; he has five questions done already. Kiba is scraping expletives into his desk with a pair of scissors, his tongue between his teeth in concentration. A group of girls – I catch Hinata sitting meekly at the edge, her grey eyes flickering from face to face – are chatting animatedly in the corner, their books forgotten.

I let my eyes stray, still playing it cool, to the back row, where _he's_ sitting.

He's staring out the window. With a start I realise that he has a black bag at his feet; I hadn't noticed him carrying it in. His desk is bare: too cool for Maths, apparently. His arms are crossed over his chest and I notice several tight black leather bands weaving over his wrists.

I can't see his face because of his bangs, but then again that's a good thing. If I can't see his eyes, he can't see mine.

"You're doing it again, Naruto," Neji drones without looking up.

"Don't be stupid." I swivel back to face the front again, trying to make the movement seem as if I'd just been stretching my back muscles. "I've got a cramp."

The side of Neji's mouth twitches up.

"Hmm."

* * *

To my utter dread, Ino invites him over to our group under the Jacaranda tree at lunch.

"Come on, Sasuke," she pleads, batting her eyelashes and pouting, "We'll show you around after lunch. The school's an easy place to get lost."

The fawned-over Sasuke looks at her, his eyes hard and opaque. She falters slightly.

"No," he says. Just like that: _no_.

Ino immediately starts a desperate babble, her tongue running away with her in the aftermath of severe rejection.

"But this place is big – like, really big – and it's really different to America, you know? Like, there are no vending machines or anything, because State Government's trying to stop us all getting fat so we don't get any soft drink or chips unless it's a Red Food Day, but those are really rare, so..."

I don't want to be standing next to her while she says what she says; I'd rather hide and pretend I have no idea who she is.

"You don't need to treat him like a Junior, Ino. He's probably been shown around already."

I get an elbow in my stomach for my trouble and spend half a minute spluttering for my breath back.

Note to self: in future, don't interrupt Ino mid-rant unless you want to lose your intestines. For someone so girlish, Ino packs quite a punch.

When I next look up, Sasuke's watching me. Again. From this distance, I can see the heavy eyeliner around his already dark eyes. The effect, in my mind, is slightly panda-like; but the girls all seem to love it, so I guess I'm not a good judge in these sorts of matters.

He suddenly turns back to Ino.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't know your name."

That was... unexpected. Ino stops and blinks. So do I.

Ino recovers first. "Ino Yamanaka!" she chirps, and begins to twirl her hair. "I think I'm in your Form class too, and maybe your Biology class." She giggles.

I stare at her. What's she giggling about? There's nothing remotely funny in this situation, except perhaps the way she's acting, but I've known Ino a long time and she never laughs at herself.

"What about you?"

He's looking at me. My mind goes blank for about five seconds.

"What?"

"Your name."

"He's Naruto," Ino cuts in, desperate for attention. "Naruto Uzumaki. Hey, you were born in America, weren't you, Naruto? Weren't you?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "I think."

"You think?" Sasuke arches an eyebrow, but the remainder of his face remains smooth and expressionless. The effect is slightly disconcerting. "You don't know where you were born?"

I don't like the direction this conversation is going.

"I'm hungry," I say by way of excuse, peeling away from Ino. "I'm gonna grab some food. See ya, Ino."

"Hey, Naruto, wait –"

But I'm gone already, leaving her midsentence in the company of the oh-so-awe-inspiring Sasuke. I don't know where Neji is, he slipped away as soon as Maths finished. Kiba, I think, was kept behind and made to polish off the words he'd scratched into the desks during the lesson. As I walk back to my locker, alone, I stuff my hands in my pockets and focus on the ground.

Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha. From Michigan. I bite my lip and kick a pebble out of the way with my shoe. If he's an exchange student... then why the hell was he all bloody and beaten-up last night out in the middle of Brookfield? Where on earth was his host family? Who was he running away from... and why? And how come he seems to have no bruises or cuts today? Did he just amazingly regenerate overnight? The questions keep on coming, and although I know it's none of my business, I just can't help wondering what the answers are.

"Naru-chan!"

My sightline gets about 25° off the vertical when I'm completely overwhelmed by Sakura jumping into my arms, knocking me backward into the side wall of Thiele Block.

"I missed you! How was Maths without me?"

"Unbearable," I say, relieved to have a distraction. "Ever since you switched out of my Maths B class, I've been in ceaseless agony."

She ruffles my hair, laughing and threading her arm through mine. "It got too boring. Maths C is at least a challenge. How's Umino? They say he's new."

"He's alright. I guess."

She looks at me closely. "Are you alright?"

"What? No, yeah – I mean, I'm fine. I'll see you at the Jacaranda."

We reach the lockers and separate: my locker number is 16, while Sakura's is 223. Opposite ends. As I approach my locker, I notice a familiar head of spiked black hair crouched at the empty locker under me.

No prizes for guessing who it is.

He looks up as I approach, then turns back to his locker. He doesn't make any effort to move out of the way, so I'm left standing awkwardly behind him, waiting for him to finish so I can reach my lock. He takes his time. If it was anyone else I'd ask them to move, but since it's him, I loiter hesitantly around, trying to make it look like I'm actually doing something instead of just standing there.

When he finally shuts his locker and clicks the combination closed, my stomach is making weird noises. I'm starving my ass off. As soon as he's out of the way I dive for the lock, racing to get it open.

"You could've just asked me to move."

I don't want to honour what he's just done with a response. Instead, I yank my lunch out – homemade risotto – and fumble around for a fork.

"Not that I would have moved anyway."

"Screw you," I say. Polite as always.

I notice him smirking out of the corner of my eye. "Anytime."

I slam my locker closed and face him, strangely angry. There's just something about his manner – that condescending, cold, I-have-a-stick-up-my-ass manner – that just pisses me the hell off.

"Who were those people?"

The smirk drops off his face. "What people," he says icily.

I glance around, then lean in closer so that our noses are just ten or so centimetres apart.

"You know what I'm talking about, so don't pretend."

"What, last night?" The smirk reforms, but it's hollow and his eyes are flaring under the heavy eyeliner. I resist the urge to take a step backward. "The people I was running away from?"

"Yes," I bite out.

His gaze is unreadable as it rakes over my face. Finally, he shrugs. "I got mugged. I fought back. They chased after me. The end."

I just _knew_ he'd say something like that.

"They mugged you and then they chased after you?"

"That's what I just said, dobe."

I ignore the insult. I have the upper hand now. He sees it in my eyes and his gaze flickers.

"What?" he says, just a tiny bit defensive.

"Sure. Sure they mugged you. Because the average mugger just happens to own a Bentley."

His eyes snap to mine and grow dangerous. This time I don't fight my instincts and consciously take a step back; he looks like a poisonous cobra about to strike. I wouldn't be surprised if the next time he opens his mouth he shows fangs.

"You don't know what you're talking about." His voice is low and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," I say stubbornly. "I saw the Bentley chasing after me. You got mugged, my ass."

To my surprise, his hand shoots out and grabs the collar of my uniform, pulling me forward so that his lips are just brushing my left cheek. I hold my breath, not pushing him off because I know he's about to say something.

"I wouldn't get curious if I were you, Uzumaki," he whispers. "If you knew what was good for you, you'd stay clean out of it. Don't push it too far. You might just end in deeper than you think possible."

I put on a smirk of my own, though it's only a show and he can't see it anyway.

"Stay out of what, teme?"

He shoves me back. I wince inwardly as my spine hits a combination lock.

"Stay out of what you don't understand."

I laugh. "Why, you doing drugs?"

His gaze silences me: the laugh just dies in my throat. In that instant, I know that it's definitely not that. Not drugs: something worse. Something I don't understand.

"Stay out of it," he says again. This time, I don't argue. And five minutes later, when I'm sitting at the Jacaranda with Kiba cracking bad jokes on my left and Sakura throwing olives at him on my right, I can still see his eyes, and the fear buried in them burns into my skull.

* * *

**A/N: Haha! Yay! This Chapter was amazingly easy to write (it is a bit short, but I'll make up for it, I promise). Woot. I'm so happy because I've just finished my Maths C test, so this Chapter is posted early! Just 'cause I'm in such a good mood! Heehee!**

**I've decided that I will update twice every week; if my schedule gets too tight, I'll switch to once a week. Next Chapter will probably be out by Sunday.**

**So the plot thickens... hmm. And no, it's not drugs nor a gang (I may be clichéd in some areas, but not **_**that**_** clichéd. Tch.) The bet is coming up next Chapter, or maybe the Chapter after if I want to be a tease (I know you guys are probably dying to see what it is, but I need some development up to it so... yeah.) This Chappie was basically a get-to-know Sasuke Chapter, though I haven't really elaborated on his past or anything. Or on Naruto's, for that matter, but suffice it to say that it shall reveal itself sooner or later. All in good time.**

**ANOTHER THING: CAN SOMEONE HELP ME?? I CAN'T REMEMBER WHO KIBA/SAKURA'S PARENTS ARE (LIKE, THEIR NAMES...) – OR EVEN WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE. PLEASE HELP, SOMEONE! THANK-YOU! :ashamed: **

**I don't know what you guys expected Sasuke to look like, but I didn't want to make him **_**too**_** I'm-such-a-full-out-emo-I-hate-everything-about-my-life... because those sorts of characters are no fun, I prefer a bit more mystery. (Eek, now I'm worried that my portrayal of Sasuke doesn't match up with what I wanted him to be like... eek.)**

**Thank-you for all the reviews: you really make my day! Love Love Love! Thank-you so much!**

**Wow, this has been a whopping long Author's Note... :sweatdrop:**

**Please review!**

**Please review!**

**Please review!**

**I love you all! Keep reading!**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**


	4. Close Call

**

* * *

**

Definitely Maybe

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

**A/N: I would like to sincerely thank all who have reviewed thus far. You make my day. :mwah: Sorry people, not so much monologue as a heap of crap stuff happening to Naruto this Chappie. Hope you don't mind. Anyway, review!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Close Call**

"You look sad, Ino. Are you okay?"

"Fine," she says shortly. "Just fine."

Sakura tries again.

"Are you sure –"

"I'm fine."

"Don't be upset over Uhichi or whatever his name is," says Kiba through a mouthful of spaghetti. "He's a tight-ass. He wouldn't have sat with anyone even if he was paid. Don't worry about it."

Ino raises her eyes listlessly and gives a half-hearted "Hmm".

Chouji pats her shoulder kindly, his chubby face good-naturedly sympathetic. "What did you expect, Ino? He's just that type. The bad type. Leave him alone, I wouldn't get too close to him if I were you. He might rub off on you, and you wouldn't want that."

"But I asked him specifically if he wanted to sit with us!" Ino wails suddenly at the top of her lungs. We all jump and look around sheepishly; all except Shikamaru, who's pretending to be asleep. "Specifically! I mean, if you're new to a school, wouldn't you appreciate something like that? Getting to know new people?"

"Yes yes," says Sakura in a soothing tone. "But I guess he isn't like that."

Ino immediately leans forward to grab Sakura's shoulders. "Have you seen him yet, Sakura? Have you seen him?"

"Er, no."

She pushes away. "Then you don't understand! You don't understand what I'm going through!"

I've kept my eyes down and mouth shut so far through this episode, but I can't help myself now.

"Ino, I'd listen to Chouji if I were you."

She huffs and crosses her arms, readying herself for an argument. "Why?" she demands.

Why? Why? Good question, and one I don't really know the answer to, last night's events aside. And I don't want to bring last night up. Not right now.

"I don't know," I admit. "But he's got the locker under mine and... yeah. There's been some iffy stuff. I wouldn't try too hard to get close if I were you."

"You guys are just all being bitchy and unfair! How can you just say that he's the bad type if –"

"Naruto can tell," Sakura interrupts, looking at me. "He can tell. Especially after Gaara."

"I warned you against him too, you know," sighs Chouji, shaking his round head.

But Ino's not done yet. "We all knew about Gaara," she argues. "Even I could tell that he was the wrong type. That's not proof of anything. It just underscores the fact that Naruto doesn't know what's good for him."

I keep my head down and don't say anything. It's true, after all.

"Don't say that, Ino," Sakura warns. She sends a worried glance at me, but I don't meet her eyes.

"It's okay," I mumble. "She's right. I don't know what's good for me."

Sakura lays a hand on my leg: her way of reassurance. "Naruto –"

She's cut off by a buzz from my pocket. My phone. I use the distraction to pull myself away from the circle, putting the phone to my ear with my back to the tree, the bark grazing along my shirt.

"Hel –"

"Naruto," a voice gasps. I jump. It's Mum. "Naru –"

And then nothing. The call ends.

"What the," I mutter, pulling the phone away and staring at Mum's cell phone number pulsing gently on my mobile screen.

Mum.

Suddenly, a feeling of déjà vu floods my stomach. I jump up, knocking Sakura's arm to the ground, as well as my fork. I don't notice. Not really. My heart is galloping along at a hundred a minute and nothing matters, nothing except the mobile in my hand and the number it shows. Everything becomes a heady blur, faces – Sakura, then Kiba, then Chouji and Ino – and colours blending together into a foggy miasma. I know what's happening. I don't want to admit it, but I can sense it there; just there, in the form of black eyes and a low, dangerous voice.

"_Stay out of what you don't understand_."

"I gotta go," I say to no-one in particular.

"Whoa there, cowboy, gotta go where?" Kiba cuts in, his usually playful eyes concerned. "What happened?"

"My Mum – I gotta go. Now."

"Naruto, slow down!" Sakura's latched onto my arm. "What's the matter –"

My eyes widen. I'm not really listening to what's going on around me; I'm lost somewhere else, my mind finally putting together pieces I hadn't realised were there before.

"He told me to get a new car," I say, more for my benefit than for anyone else's. I'm met with a wall of blank stares. "He told me to get one if I didn't want to get involved."

But it wasn't my car.

It was my Mum's.

The next moment I'm running. Where am I going? No fucking idea; my legs are just going by themselves. Stunned faces are flying past my vision, teachers are shouting at me. Screw them. I pound my way down past the Library, past the school Quadrangle with the drought-stricken hydrangeas and past the Yr 9 lockers, Juniors goggling at me all the while. Past the Middle School and to the Front Gates, the school crest looming out above the garden beds. I need to get home. I need to get home _now_.

"Hey! Naruto!"

It's Kiba. For a brief moment I want to ignore him – keep on running; keep on running – but then I notice something. He's sitting at the wheel of a battered Subaru, leaning on his horn, with Sakura in the back seat.

"Get in! Get in, dammit!"

I yank open the passenger door and collapse onto the seat, my breathing all over the place.

"Home," I pant hoarsely. "Get me home. Now."

"Naruto," Sakura ventures hesitantly as Kiba skids his way down to the Harts Road roundabout, "Are you okay? What happened?"

"My Mum – she never calls me on her mobile. She's at home, so why would she?"

My eyes are wild. Kiba's going at a snail pace, though when I look over at the speedometer I notice with a jolt that we're actually flying along at eighty through Moggill traffic.

"How did you – whose car is this?"

"Mine," says Kiba shortly, his concentration mainly on not splattering us into a lamp post. "I drive to school every morning now. Got my Learners in the holidays."

"Naruto –"

"Not now," I say; my voice sounds strangely pleading. It chokes up halfway and I have to clear my throat a few times. "Later. Please, Sakura."

She gets the message. We sit in silence, Kiba wrestling with the wheel, me trying to force back my nausea. It seems like an hour until we reach my street; and when we do, my heart jumps a beat.

Police cars. Ambulance. Outside my house.

"Stop!" I scream, and Kiba whams on the brakes. I'm out of the car before he's even killed the ignition. I trip over the side of the car – damn those things! why were they even _invented_?! – and fall on all fours, my palms skidding along the bitumen. I don't care. I pick myself up and run, vaguely aware of someone shouting at me ("Keep away, kid! Police investigation! Hey! You!") and the next moment I'm shoving my way past officers, ambulance people, anyone stupid enough to get in my way.

"Mum!" I yell, ignoring an ambo who tries to hold me back. "Mum! Mum!"

"Stop! Sir!"

"Shut up!" I shriek back, hitting out with my arms when hands grab my shoulders. "I want to see my Mum! Where's my Mum!"

"You're Naruto? Naruto Uzumaki?"

What is wrong with these people?! Didn't I just say I wanted to see my _Mum_?

"Stop, Naruto, son. Stop. You can see your mother in a moment. Just stop for a second, kid."

I pause in my mindless thrashing, gathering my breath back. There's a moistness on my hands; I'm bleeding. The déjà vu deepens, seeping into the walls of my lungs, twisting itself around my throat, a writhing, dark mass. I can feel it coming. I can sense it.

"Your mother was Kushina Uzumaki?"

There. He's said it. _Was_. _Was_. Not _is_; but _was_. That single word spirals across my vision and I feel the strength ebb out of me, draining out through my legs and into the pavement. My knees give out and I feel someone catching me under the arms; it's Kiba.

"My mother _is_ Kushina Uzumaki," I whisper, feeling hot tears burning at the back of my eyes. And then the strength comes back with a surge. "Damn you! She's not dead! She isn't, you _bastard_!"

"Naruto, stop," comes Sakura's voice; tearful. "Naruto –"

"You _bastards_!" I yell, turning and shoving Kiba away – hard. "You're all bastards! All of you!"

"Naruto, son –"

"Where is she!" I shriek, my voice dying away to sobs. It's not true. It can't be. And yet I know it is; I'd seen it coming all along. I'd seen it the moment a bleeding boy with a Bentley on his tail yanked open my car door on a Monday night. I'd seen it then; not clearly, but in the way you see something dark underwater, and can't tell how far away it is because of the bending light. And it's here now. The nightmare is here.

I'm involved.

"Where – I want to see – my mother – "

"Naruto? Naruto?"

And then darkness rushes up, all-consuming. I struggle for a moment; and then it laps over me like a wave, and all I see is black eyes and my mother's face, telling me to be careful, look both ways when crossing the road, don't plug your iPod in the wrong socket or you'll blow it; packing me a risotto for lunch...

And then, that voice again, chanting like a mantra.

_Stay out... stay... out... of what you don't understand... of what you don't..._

* * *

"No, I'm sorry, no visitors. Absolutely none, Nurse, you know the drill. Not until he's awake and I can assess his mental condition."

I stir slightly, but I don't open my eyes. I'm so comfortable. The pillow feels so good under my head. I don't ever want to leave. Ever.

"But Doctor, they won't leave me alone. They've been there for nearly three hours now."

"Tell them to leave! Call Security, for Christ's sake."

"But they're only kids!"

There's a soft breeze on my forehead, and it brings with it the smell of flowers. I furrow my brow, trying to work out what flower it is. Lilies, maybe. Lilies are Sakura's favourite flower. Lily of the Valley. Sounds like some kind of car freshener: the kind you hang on your mirror.

Car freshener.

Car.

My eyes fly open. I bolt up straight, my mouth gulping for air. For a moment I'm completely disorientated – people are staring at me, people in white coats – and then one of them, a woman who's been talking to a man with a clipboard, rushes to my side.

"There there, it's alright, it's okay, take it easy now –"

"Where am I."

My voice sounds hollow, even to my ears. I shake my head and try again, forcing a bit more feeling into the words.

"Where am I?"

The woman smiles, but her eyes are nervously assessing my face. "At the Royal Brisbane Hospital, sweetheart."

"How long?"

"Two days."

I say nothing to this, instead opting to stare at my hands, folded on the white blanket. They're bandaged, and sting slightly whenever I move them. I swallow, focusing on them to avoid thinking about anything else. In the light from the windows, the white bandages make my hands look unreal; detached, somehow, like I'm simultaneously staring at them and sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at myself staring at them.

"Honey? Do you want a drink or something?"

"Yeah," I say without looking up. There's the sound of running water, a cup being filled.

"Here, sweetheart. Nice and slow, now. Slowly. It's cold."

She's right about that. The liquid burns icily down my throat, numbing my tongue. I put the cup down gingerly with my bandaged hands, then stare at the blanket again. I don't want to think. At all.

"I'm sorry, sir, you can't –"

"Dammit! We just want to see him, we're not going to kill him or anything for Jesus's sake –"

"Kiba!" comes Sakura's voice shrilly, echoing off the corridors outside. "Don't say that word!"

"Just let us in! I –"

The door explodes open and Kiba falls in, Sakura toppling in behind with a handful of his shirt. Then comes Ino, Chouji, Shikamaru, Neji, TenTen; Hinata clinging to her cousin's arm, looking just about ready to cry. Even some guys I don't know – a boy in a high-collared coat, with sunglasses; a boy in green with a bowl-cut, his large black eyes blinking. The nurse at my side makes a small "Oh!" sound, before standing and wiping her hands anxiously on her coat.

"I'm sorry," she says. "The Doctor has said there are to be no visit –"

"Screw the doctor!" Kiba swears vehemently, and Sakura shakes him. He pulls away from her. "We just want to see –"

"Naruto!"

Sakura runs to me, her arms wide. She's crying; I notice this rather apathetically. Her arms wrap around my neck and I sit still, not saying a word.

"Oh Naruto, my baby, oh God, I'm so sorry baby, I'm so sorry –"

Then Kiba's there; to my dull surprise – everything's dull right now, like I'm having pins-and-needles everywhere – crying too but trying to hide it, doing a bad job. I feel like telling him to stop; what does _he_ have to cry about?; but my tongue is numb and I keep my silence.

"Hey, man – how're you keeping up in this shithouse –"

"Kiba, don't –"

"I'm sorry, but the Doctor said that –"

"Shut up! I don't give a fuck what the Doctor said, he can go shove –"

"Kiba, stop it," Sakura wails from my neck. "Just – stop!"

"Yes," I say. It's the first word I've spoken to them. They freeze and watch me, as if searching for a clue in my next words. "Just stop. I need to be alone. Please."

There's a small silence.

"The Doctor said –"

"Shut up," Kiba says again, but his tone is softer this time. "You need to be alone, Naruto?"

I don't speak, and he nods, brushing a hand over his eyes.

"Let's go, guys. Hang in there, Naruto. Hang tight. Sorry for just barging in like this – we didn't plan it this way – but we're all here, if you need us."

I watch as they file out, each one giving me a soft word or a gesture to reassure me. I sit through it all like a zombie. When they're finally gone and there's just me and the ruffled nurse standing at the foot of the bed, I look at her expectantly too.

She bustles around for a while, not noticing, muttering under her breath. When she finally catches my gaze, her eyes soften and she gives a watery smile.

"I'll be outside if you need me, okay, sweetheart? Just give me a call, alright?"

When she's gone, I lean back against the pillows, staring blankly ahead. Once again, I see my Mum's face; and then, _his_, him with his fathomless eyes.

I close my eyes. If someone gave me a gun, I would willingly shoot him: right now, and right through the heart.

* * *

**A/N: Serious Chapter, I know. Sorry, no bet in this Chappie. Too serious for bets. But the bet is serious too, not the I-bet-you-can't-eat-ramen-as-fast-as-me kind of bet. Not much to say here; the mood I'm in is too... uncomfortable, if you know what I mean.**

**Stay tuned. And review like crazy if you want the next Chapter.**

**Love you.**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**


	5. Definitely Involved

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

**A/N:** **Ooh, reviews! Mmm! Yummy. I'm soaking in everything you say – and trying my best to act on your wonderful advice. Semi-long Chapter, this one; enjoy, and review.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Definitely Involved**

"_...a woman was found dead in her home in Mt Ommaney last night; it appears that she died of gas poisoning. A leaking gas valve was found in her kitchen, where she had presumably been preparing lunch. The Police have warned citizens to be careful in future, and have regular check-ups on the state of their pipes to avoid a repeat of such a terrible accident: especially in older residences, where these issues may arise more frequently. The Police does not view the incident as suspicious..."_

I turn it off in disgust. I can't listen any more.

_The Police does not view the incident as suspicious_ –

The nurse comes in again, her eyes warily trying to gauge my mood. I'm starting to feel sorry for her, so I force a smile to my face and she smiles waveringly back.

"How are you feeling today, sweetie?"

"Better," I lie, putting the television remote down on my bedside. "And you?"

She looks stunned. "Oh, I'm fine, don't worry about me. The Doctor will be here shortly to do some check-ups – nothing serious," she adds hurriedly, at the look on my face. "Just to make sure you're okay so we can give you the green light to go home."

"Go where?" I whisper. "I don't have anywhere to go."

Her hand, which has been busily arranging pillows around my head, falters. "I'm sure they'll work something out for you, sweetheart. Don't worry about it. It'll be alright."

I wonder how many times she's had to say those three words: _it'll be alright_. I wonder if she says them to people she knows aren't going to make it. I shift onto my side, nestling into the pillows and staring blankly out of the open window at the clouds drifting lazily past, their fat white bellies brushing the tops of skyscrapers.

The Doctor's visit is long and long-winded, dragging on for over two hours. By the time he's left, I feel as if I've run a marathon on an empty stomach. I take my lunch – ham and watercress sandwiches, with an apple crumble and a small portion of fresh fruit – without tasting anything and spend another two hours gazing out the window. The hum of machinery and the click of people's shoes reverberate around my room and the corridors, and the stifling scent of disinfectant clings to everything like a fog.

I'm in the midst of wondering what is to become of me after I get out of hospital, when the nurse opens the door and enters, clearly agitated.

"You have a visitor," she says, wringing her hands. "I shouldn't – the Doctor said not to – but if he's quick –"

She hesitates on the spot for a while, her tongue between her teeth, her hands clenched in her coat. Finally, she lets out a defeated sigh.

"Do you want to see him, sweetheart?"

"Who is it?" I ask. I can't think of anyone who would come; unless it's Kiba again, but I doubt the place would be this quiet if it was him.

"He says his name is Sasuke, but he wouldn't leave a last name. Do you know him?"

I jerk upright, my eyes wide and furious.

"Sasuke," I grit out.

The nurse looks alarmed. "Honey! Don't! I'll tell him to go, if you want, you don't have to see him –"

"No," I say. My voice comes out as a low trickle. "I want to see him. I _need_ to see him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

She hesitates again, then leaves, closing the door softly behind her. I listen to the sound of her shoes as they fade down the corridor; a few moments pass; and then they come again, her step faster, more decisive.

"In here."

The door opens; I look away before anyone enters, calming myself. Outside, a brood of pigeons have alighted on the windowsill and are pecking at nonexistent seeds. The door closes quietly, and then there's silence.

I turn slowly, feeling my fingers clench in their bandages.

He meets my accusing stare levelly, his eyes masked. He's not wearing eyeliner today, but his gaze still contains an intensity that sears right to my spine. I know then that I hate him. I hate him from the very depths of my being.

"You," I say. No more. There's no need. He can taste the venom in my words.

There's a silence. He doesn't move, his shadow frozen on the white hospital tiles.

"I can explain."

"Explain _what_?!" I explode. "Explain why my Mum is _dead_, perhaps? Huh? Explain why I've just – lost – my last – _fucking_ – relative on this goddamn _planet_? When Dad died, he made me _promise_ to look after her; and I tried my _fucking_ best, and then you swan in here with your _crap_ and before I know it she's _gone_!"

He looks away.

I breathe heavily, all the pent-up anger and frustration and sadness expanding rapidly in my chest like a bubble within my ribcage. Silence descends again; and then I laugh, the sound hanging bitter and sarcastic in between the two of us.

"Well? You don't seem to have anything to say now. I thought you had something to explain?"

"I do," he says quietly.

"I'm all ears," I say cuttingly, trying my best to hurt him. I _want_ to hurt him. I want to _kill_ him.

His eyes flick to my face, and then away again. "I told you to keep out of it. You didn't listen."

"Well, I _apologise_ for not listening to some condescending, fucked-up _bastard_ who – I might remind you, Mr-oh-so-Perfect – got into _my_ car, got _me_ into a goddamn car chase, and _then_ told me a whole heap of _don't-get-in-too-deep-you'll-regret-it_ crap as if it was _my_ fault you got into my car in the first place! Who told you to involve me, huh? You think I _want_ to be in this?! You think I _want_ my Mum dead? Huh? That what you think?!"

"It doesn't matter what I think." His voice is soft and absolutely devoid of feeling, contrasting eerily with my furious yelling. "It's happened. What I think is not an issue."

"You _bastard_," I hiss, throwing the blankets aside and lurching to my feet. "You unfeeling _bastard!_"

Something flickers across his face at that, too quick for me to decipher; but then it's gone, replaced by his usual mask.

"You didn't listen," he says again evenly. "I warned you."

"I didn't believe it! How was I supposed to believe what you'd said? All that shit about getting a new car? Do you think normal people just have enough money in their pockets to get new cars every time someone random tells them so?!"

"You should've believed it," he says. "Because it was true."

I lunge at him. He's been expecting it; but he doesn't move, lets me shove him against the wall, my forearm crushed across his throat. The buckle of his leather choker digs into my skin but I ignore it, my breath fanning raggedly between our faces, heaving every two seconds or so. He watches me calmly, not moving.

"What was true?" I demand in a low, aggressive whisper. "Tell me. Now. I have a right to know. I have a right to know how to get myself out of this."

"You can't get out of it," he counters, and that _something_ ghosts over his face once more: there and gone again, like a flash of lightning. "At least, it's not that easy."

"Answer the question, dammit!"

"I don't have to answer anything."

I punch him in the stomach. Hard. My bandaged hands throb with the impact; I've probably hurt myself more than I've hurt him; but I don't care.

"Answer it, bastard!"

His eyes seek out mine and hold them, their dark depths serious. "If I tell you, you won't be able to get out. Ever. You'll be in too deep. They'll be after you too."

"Who's _they_?" I say, exasperated.

"Do you really want to know? I'm warning you, Uzumaki. Don't say I didn't warn you."

I stop and think about it. _Do_ I really want to know? I search his face for any kind of clue, anything which might incline me one way or the other, but as expected, there is nothing. Suddenly, I realise that this is my chance to stand up and walk away; I can say no, Sasuke will leave, I'll bury my mother...

But could I live without ever knowing who'd killed her – without knowing who'd taken her away from me?

No. I couldn't.

"Tell me," I say. "I need to know."

He closes his eyes. "There's a bet – "

The sound of shoes echoes in the corridor outside. We both jump; it's the nurse.

"Quick," I whisper, impatient. "There's a bet. Yes?"

"A bet on my life."

I blink. "A bet on what?"

The door opens. I shove myself away from him almost violently, my head spinning with the abrupt movement. Immediately, he slips away from the wall; by the time the nurse enters, he's standing by the empty bed, staring out of the hospital window.

"I'm sorry," the nurse says; to my surprise, her voice is low and furtive, her eyes darting around the room nervously. "The Doctor is coming – you need to go now. Hurry. You're not supposed to be here."

"I'm coming."

He turns and, without looking at me, moves fluidly towards the door. As he leaves, I see him slip something to her – something yellow – two fifties. A hundred dollars... a bribe for her silence.

* * *

The woman is familiar, the man is not. They are both in their late forties, at a guess, though the woman has had plastic surgery and looks about ten years younger. Her honey-coloured eyes radiate a sharp sort of melancholy; sitting at my bedside, she looks like a doctor unsure of a diagnosis.

"Naruto," she says. Her eyes sweep over my unwashed face, my uncombed blonde hair – which has probably organised itself into a makeshift hairstyle of spikes and random tufts – and my hospital pyjamas, then finally over my bandaged hands.

"Tsunade," I reply. I nod at the white-haired man sitting beside her, unsure of his name. "Sir."

"Jiraiya, kid, the name's Jiraiya," he says. He shifts slightly, looking around the room. "This some place you got here. They even gave you a window facing the traffic. Picturesque stuff. You must love the view."

Despite myself, I feel a smile twitching at the edge of my lips.

"Definitely. I get up at five every morning just to watch the sun rise over the petrol fumes."

His eyes sparkle and he flashes his canines in a smile. "And you get cute nurses waiting on you day and night too. Never thought I'd say this, but you are one lucky guy. If I were you, I'd give them a piece of my –"

"Jiraiya," Tsunade snaps, dealing him a sharp cuff to the back of the head, sending him yowling from his seat. "You are not to be perverted in front of minors! Act normal!"

"He's not a minor!" Jiraiya yelps back. "He's eighteen! And I am acting normal!"

"I'm seventeen," I correct, bemused.

"Same difference!"

Tsunade reaches over and yanks him down by the hair. He sits down grudgingly – but as soon as she turns back to me, I see him shifting his chair out of grabbing distance. I don't envy him. Tsunade has a quick temper and the strength to match. If you didn't know she was a doctor, you'd think she was a professional boxer.

"Naruto," she says again, and leans forward with her hands folded on her lap. "As your godmother, I am very sorry to hear about your mother. About the accident."

My eyes flare. "It wasn't an accident."

Tsunade seems taken aback. Jiraiya's eyes lose their playful gleam and fix onto my face, scrutinising my every movement.

"What do you mean?" he asks quickly.

I twist the edge of the blanket between my fingers, debating whether to tell them or not. Can I trust them? Or am I being too paranoid? I finally decide that the whole truth would be too hard; fragments of the truth – that was something we could both handle.

"I got a call," I say cautiously. "On my mobile. Just before Mum... died."

"You got a call."

"Yes. She said my name – twice – like, gasped it, you know? And then it sounded like she was being pulled from the phone; or maybe the phone got pulled away from her, I dunno which; and then it ended."

"Are you sure it was from your Mum?"

"Well, yeah, the number was Mum's mobile. And it was her voice. Now, why would she use a mobile in the house? I mean, there's a normal phone in the kitchen where she was found – why wouldn't she just call normally?"

They don't say anything.

"You get what I'm saying?" I say desperately, after a while.

Jiraiya sighs. "What time did you get the call?"

I shrug, reaching for the bedside drawer and pulling it open. All my stuff – the clothes I'd been wearing, my keys, my wallet, my phone – sits there neatly, staring complacently up at the ceiling.

"The time should be stored in my Received Calls – hang on, my phone takes a year to turn on." I wait impatiently, my thumbs itching to press buttons. "Here we go. Menu – Calls Log – Received Calls –"

I stop.

There's nothing there.

Empty.

"What time?" prods Jiraiya again.

"Uh, hang on, mobile's being dodgy. Just a sec."

I scroll around, take a look at my Dialled Calls, my Missed Calls – hell, even my Messages – everything is blank. Everything is gone. Wiped clean.

I look up, and meet Jiraiya's expectant eyes. I swallow, feeling slightly claustrophobic for no reason at all. "Can I get back to you on that?"

Tsunade's eyes narrow in concern, but she doesn't push it further. "Sure, Naruto. We can talk about this later, okay? We're not allowed in here for more than half an hour – so we need to push on, alright?"

I bow my head and say nothing, my head whirling. Tsunade takes this as permission to continue, and adds, "Now, since Jiraiya was named as your godfather a year ago – though I have no idea why _anyone_ would do that – by your father, we are going to take care of you after you leave hospital."

I look up, confused. "I didn't know you were married."

Jiraiya quirks an eyebrow. Tsunade rolls her eyes.

"We're not married."

"Thank God," Jiraiya says emphatically.

Tsunade ignores him. "We're old schoolmates, from 'back in the day'. Jiraiya taught at Melbourne University when your father went there, and I taught at Monash where your mother went. But that was before they met each other and moved up here to Brisbane."

"I didn't know my parents were originally from Melbourne," I say, surprised.

"Well, kiddo, they were," says Jiraiya matter-of-factly. "I still remember Minato at the college parties – he was always the first to get drunk –"

"Jiraiya," Tsunade warns, her clear eyes flashing. "Relevant information only. Please."

He shuts up immediately and inches away, eyeing her clenched fists.

"Dad always said he was Brisbane born-and-bred," I say, still puzzled. I feel a little hurt that he'd never told me he was from Melbourne. Why would he hide something like that? It wasn't like it would make a real difference where he was actually from.

"Meh, Brisbane, Melbourne, same thing. Though the girls are prettier in Melbourne. Longer legs. Must be the water."

Tsunade sighs, defeated. "Pervert."

"What?" says Jiraiya defensively. "Aren't I allowed to comment on the female population at all, now? Is that just taboo for me, now? Why can't I say they're pretty? Isn't that what they're there for?"

"No, Jiraiya, you dim-witted, pornography-writing idiot. That's _not_ what they're there for. We females are here to stop you testosterone-fired males from tearing the world apart with sharp rocks. Now be quiet, or else I'll take your teeth out next. One by one."

"Bitch," Jiraiya mutters.

Tsunade bristles. "What was that, moron?"

"Nothing," the white-haired man sings innocently, raising his palms. "Continue, please, Tsunade _dearest_."

I have to bite my lips to stop myself from laughing. Despite their age, these two act like five-yr-olds squabbling over a toy. It takes all of my self-control to keep a straight face when Tsunade turns to me; she doesn't like being laughed at, and I don't like being hit at, so I decide to save us both the trouble.

"The rental contract's going to expire on the house you currently live in by February, so you'll need to move out of there. Me and this git here will be moving into an apartment in the City in a few days, so you can stay with us. We'll take care of all the legal stuff, the funeral arrangements, things like that." Her face softens, and she lays a hand on my arm. "Unless you want to organise the funeral, Naruto. That's fine by us, too."

I smile, genuinely grateful. "Thank-you. That would be nice."

"You know what else would be nice?" Jiraiya cuts in. "Some food. We flew all the way down from Melbourne, as soon as we found out, which was about thirteen hours ago. Haven't touched a crumb since."

"What do you mean, you haven't eaten? We stopped at Sizzlers just two hours ago –"

"Don't listen to her, she's lying. Can we call the..." His eyes are dancing again; I notice him unconsciously rubbing his hands together – "...nurse... back with some food?"

I laugh, reaching for the bell on the desk. "Yeah, sure. They only have sandwiches, though."

"Fine by me."

"Anything's fine by you, as long as it has tits and a large ass," Tsunade mumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So? I'm easy to please. Better than you."

That earns him a long-coming battering from the Fists of Doom. As Tsunade chases Jiraiya around the room – the latter seeking refuge behind cupboards, benches, chairs, even the curtains – I lean back in my bed, brushing the hair from my eyes and stifling a smirk.

_It's alright_, I tell myself as the nurse enters and Jiraiya's sightline immediately snaps to her garmented bosom; _it's alright. I'm not alone anymore. I have somewhere to stay. Things will work out: maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow; but someday. I'm not alone._

* * *

**A/N: So, two scenes, two completely different moods! What did you guys think? I felt like I needed to insert a bit of a break from the serious stuff, hence cue Jiraiya and Tsunade.**

**So... how you guys guessing on the plot direction? I'm dropping hints all over the place – in unlikely places too, haha, can you find them? – so I'm curious as to what you think will happen! Tell me, tell me, tell me! :bounces around happily: Haha yay, so happy I got this Chapter finished! Yay! And so glad I finally mentioned The Bet somewhere – what do you guys think it is, hmm? Hmm? :poke poke:**

**:floats around in plot-induced-ecstasy:**

**You'll never guess what's coming! Teehee!**

**Oh, and by the way, I've just re-read Chapter 6 and decided I don't like it, so I'm going to rewrite, which might postpone my next update a few days. And school's starting soon too, so I'll probably have to cut down to one update a week. Is that okay? Hope you don't mind too much, haha (considering I'm pretty much doing that already).**

**Anyway, don't forget to review!**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**


	6. The Second Time

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

* * *

**A/N:** **Long Chappie coming up! Hope you don't mind. Please review!**

**Also, can anyone tell me what colour Gaara's eyes are? I keep getting confused: are they bright green, or a very very light blue? I always thought they were green but I read some of Shippuden the other day and for some reason they looked bluish... so yeah. Weird. Anyway, please help me out! Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Second Time**

The apartment is new and smells like paint and fresh curtains. It's larger than I'd expected, though considering Tsunade's exorbitant salary, that's not all that surprising. The furniture is there already – an Italian-style dining table, white marble balanced perfectly with glass; six or seven French chairs that look as if they've been plucked directly from Versailles; two French sofas; plasma TV, with the remote lying neatly on a nearby glass coffee table; a huge oil painting of a group of beautiful water nymphs, dominating an entire wall. The painting's gold gilt frame is thicker than my thigh. I stare at the naked forms, realising with a sigh whose influence had probably resulted in the painting being hung right here in the living room.

"Jiraiya, did you pick this painting?" I say loudly, folding my hands behind my head.

"Which painting?"

Jiraiya emerges at the front door, a cardboard moving box in his arms, his breath coming in jagged spurts. He places it on the white carpet, where it immediately leaves a grey dust print.

"Oh, that painting?" He grins, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Yes, that was me. Why? How did you tell?"

"Naked women? In the rain? With water jars?" I suggest.

"Hey, just be glad it's a painting, not a photograph."

I chuckle. "How did you get Tsunade to agree to this?"

"The only reason why I said yes was becauseit _wasn't_ a photograph," Tsunade says, appearing at the door too. "At least if it's a painting, I can _pretend_ it was put there in the name of Art, not Pornography."

"Pornography _is_ Art," Jiraiya argues. "You arty people are just jealous that Pornography is more popular nowadays."

"Hey Tsunade," I say hurriedly, catching the violent spark entering her eyes, "Did you honestly just buy this apartment a few days ago? I mean, with all the new furniture and carpet and things –"

"It's 'cause Tsunade here has _contacts_," interrupts Jiraiya with a lot of elbowing and winking and sarcasm.

"Shut up, you," Tsunade scowls. "Well, I just sorted out the furniture. It was cheaper to buy than to move all your existing furniture all the way up here. The apartment was here already: it's in your name, Naruto. Oh, that reminds me. The bookcase is still at the manufacturer's, Jiraiya, the metal inlay was –"

"Whoa whoa whoa, hang on a sec, stop, rewind," I say. "What do you mean by the apartment being 'in my name'?"

Tsunade stares at me blankly for a while, then Jiraiya interjects with a "He doesn't know yet, stupid."

"I don't know what? What don't I know?"

"This apartment is yours, kid," says Jiraiya. "It was your Dad's, but it was left to you, with your Mum as a trustee. It was going to pass over to your name when you turned eighteen, but... well, circumstances change. So it's yours now. Exactly what it says in the Will."

I feel as if someone's just thrown a frying pan at my head. "This apartment... is _mine_?!"

Jiraiya rolls his eyes. "No, I was lying. Honestly, kid, what did you expect? Your parents weren't exactly _poor_."

"Well, they weren't exactly _rich_ either. Not rich enough to own a penthouse apartment in the City, at least."

"What do you mean?" Jiraiya laughs. "Minato Uzumaki was –"

"Time for lunch!" Tsunade cuts in, her voice strangely strained. "You must be hungry, right, Naruto? Where do you want to eat today, hmm? I'll treat you. What about Jade Buddha? Jiraiya, get the boxes up, for Christ's sake. There's three more and then the filing cabinet. I'll have to help you with that."

Jiraiya's eyes boggle like a frog's. "Are you serious?! Three more boxes?! No way. I'm not here for manual labour. I got one up, you get the rest. You're younger than me, after all."

"I'm a woman," Tsunade snaps indignantly. "Whatever happened to chivalry? When did women indulge in manual labour? Age has nothing to do with it. Hurry up. Or else I'll throw all your Icha Icha crap off the balcony."

"Blackmail," Jiraiya mutters sulkily, turning back to the door.

"Wait," I say, my mind still stuck on the mention of my father. "What were you going to say, just then? About Dad? What was with Dad?"

But he's already gone.

"If you drop another box, Jiraiya, I will _kill_ you!" Tsunade hollers down the staircase. "And be careful in the elevator! Put it on the floor!"

I move to the door just in time to see Jiraiya flipping Tsunade off, his white head disappearing around the corner of the small staircase. Moments later, I hear the tell-tale _click_ of the elevator button being pressed, and then a _whoosh_ as the doors open.

"Damn idiot," Tsunade murmurs darkly, her hands on her hips. "Don't know how I ended up in the same school as him. They should've kicked him out."

I know Tsunade well enough to recognise when her blood pressure needs lowering.

"The furnishings are beautiful, though," I say, casually drifting back into the apartment. My eyes linger on the European decorations, every surface spotless and gleaming. "I didn't know you had such a Parisian taste, Tsunade. I always expected you to be more... modern."

"_Mais oui_!" she exclaims in flawless French. "I studied Medicine in Paris for three years. Got nothing done whatsoever. Distracted through and through by croissants and card tables."

I want to sit down, but the embroidered cushions look so expensive I'm afraid I'll dirty them or something. Nostalgia suddenly stirs and I blink back sudden memories, knowing that I don't want to confront them now – I'm not ready to confront them now.

"Card tables?" I ask, desperate for distractions. "Are you sure you're talking about Paris?"

She frowns, lounging on the French sofa. "You're right, I must be thinking of Morocco. I can play a mean game of Blackjack now, though, so I guess it was worth it."

I trace a finger along the Italian table, absently following the network of veins along its marble surface. The white stone is cool to the touch and openly radiates wealth. I open my mouth to ask why Tsunade spent so much buying a _dining_ table, of all things, when Jiraiya stumbles back through the door, bent half over.

"Move! Move!" he shouts. Without waiting for his command to be obeyed, he dumps the box on the carpet and collapses into a chair, wheezing.

"I'll get the rest of them, if you want," I offer, staring guiltily at his puffed state.

"No," Tsunade says sharply. "You just got out of hospital. You're not doing anything strenuous. For at least a week."

"I was in hospital for grazing my hands," I argue. "They're fine now. Look."

"You were in hospital because they were afraid you'd do something stupid," Tsunade counters calmly.

Me? Stupid? Never.

"Do something stupid? Like what?"

"Like try to commit suicide."

"Pft," I say, though a little uncomfortably. "I wouldn't try something like that again. I promised you last time, Tsunade, remember? I don't go back on promises."

She looks uncertain. "They've requested you go through counselling. Just in case."

"Oh come on, I don't need that crap. You know what they're like, you're a doctor. 'How are you feeling today?' 'Are you having any suicidal thoughts?' 'Can you take a look at these ink blots for me?' I mean, seriously, Tsunade."

She sighs, then stands and tugs Jiraiya's hair. "Up, you lazy-ass. Get the boxes. I'll help you. Naruto, you can help us with the elevator buttons. Then we'll go to lunch."

* * *

Going back to school isn't easy.

Whispers and behind-the-back finger-pointing follow me all the way through the corridors; the Juniors are less subtle and goggle at me openly. I feel like a freak at a Circus. Kiba, walking by my side like a bodyguard, attempts to disperse them (with varying degrees of success) by glaring daggers at whoever looks most likely to next glance in my direction. I appreciate his good intentions, but the glaring contests are getting tiresome and his weird way of going about it is drawing snickers.

"What's after Form?" I ask him in a last-ditch attempt to distract both him and myself.

"Biology," he replies shortly, and then adds, almost automatically: "With Hinata."

I raise an eyebrow. "I didn't know Hinata taught Biology," I tease half-heartedly.

He blinks. "What, man? What are we talking about now?"

"Don't worry."

He turns back and rakes through the crowd again with his glare. "I never did, man. Never did."

"Uzumaki."

Kiba does an about-face and glares like never before. I slow my pace at the familiar voice but I don't stop walking entirely, preferring movement to a stalemate. Behind me, I hear Kiba saying something angrily – it sounds a bit like _Piss off_, but I'm not completely sure – and then a hand is on my shoulder, and I stop.

"Uzumaki," he says again.

"Sasuke." I give him a curt nod and attempt to keep walking.

"I need to talk to you."

"What, here? Go ahead."

He turns to Kiba, who's returned to my side like a guard dog.

"You two have Form, don't you? Tell Kakashi that Naruto's busy."

"Kakashi?" Kiba retorts. "First-name basis with teachers already, Sasuke? Moving fast, are we?"

Sasuke ignores him. "We won't be long. Make up some excuse. I'm assuming you're intelligent enough to at least be able to do that?"

Kiba's eyes narrow dangerously. "Why? Where's Naruto going? I'm not leaving him. Wherever he goes, I go."

Sasuke cocks a sardonic eyebrow. "Touching. My heart bleeds for you."

"I need to talk with him, Kiba," I interject, before things get out of hand. A Prefect is moving towards us, a cross look on her face. "Just for half an hour or so. If I'm late for Biology, cover for me, okay?"

"What? You're going? You can't be serious, man. We're getting our Assignments today."

"Have a cry," Sasuke says, grabbing my arm and steering me away.

I wince at his grip, feeling more than a bit guilty at leaving Kiba standing there, his brown eyes hurt and confused, his arms hanging dejectedly by his sides. I give him a half-hearted grin and a wink, and he huffs before turning away. The Prefect casts us a disapproving glare before disappearing as well.

"You didn't have to do that," I mumble acidly as we carve our way through a mass of Juniors, heading outside. The sun strikes the windows at a slant on our right, leaving shadows flickering over the floor.

"Hn."

I take a look at him. His eyes are coated with eyeliner again, but there's a rough edge to it, as if he'd done the job half-drunk or high on caffeine. Sunlight hits his lashes raggedly, tinting them a light gold and making their expression inscrutable. There's a haunted look on his face, a shadow that stretches from his eyes to the set of his mouth.

"Are you going to tell me what the bet's about?" I chance, hoping to pick up where we'd left off.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to hear."

We reach the front doors; he shoves them open with a shoulder. The scent of freshly-mown grass assaults my nostrils and I breathe in the green smell hungrily, letting it flood my lungs. I follow him as he trails towards a glade of scraggly eucalypts, noting with satisfaction that all the Juniors are gone – Form's started, and they're all in class. Without them, the place feels quiet and orderly.

He settles into the glade, the dry leaves crackling under his thighs. I follow suit. Above us, yellow eucalypt blossoms wave in the wind, branches splayed open like the digits of a skeletal hand.

He doesn't speak. I don't want to break the silence, so I stare up at the scraps of sky visible through the trees, counting clouds.

"When's..."

He clears his throat, not meeting my eyes. I don't look at him, letting him stew. It's his fault, anyway. He can deal with the awkwardness. I'm not going to help him out.

"When's the funeral?"

"Tomorrow," I say shortly.

He nods once and lapses back into silence. The trees sweep across my vision and I fight back the momentary nausea, tracing their progress against the clouds.

"Where are you going to stay?"

"Godparents."

"No, I mean where."

"City."

"What about your parents' house?"

"Rented."

"What, rented out?"

"You trying to write a novel here?" I snap back. "Writing my life's story, is that it? Is that what you're doing?"

His eyes rove over my face and he shakes his head slightly, dislodging small fragments of bark. The haunted look intensifies and I feel my anger ebb a little, gathering into a subdued knot in my stomach.

"Sorry about that," I say quietly. "I'm just... a little emotional right now."

"Hn."

We sit in silence for a while longer, dappled sunlight lending a golden glow to the trees around us. He's not looking at me so I take the chance to assess him, trying to gauge his mood. It doesn't work. The guy's locked his emotions up tighter than a vault. I might as well be staring at a brick wall.

"Your Mum... do you know how she passed yet?"

"Gas poisoning," I say; the anger bubbles again like a pot on the boil. "Bullshit. I know they got her. I can feel it."

"Are you sure it wasn't actually gas poi –"

"She called me, okay? Minutes before. She called me on her mobile."

He sits forward suddenly, his eyes sharp. "Yes? What did she say?"

"She said my name twice. She was cut off. Somebody cut her off. And then she died. Okay? And I checked yesterday and somehow my mobile's been completely wiped, all the memory's gone –"

"They have your number."

"Of course they have my number," I say irritably. "If Mum was calling me at the time, then my number would be on the mobile. Stupid."

"Where's the actual mobile?"

I fish around in my pockets, but before I've pulled it out, he stops me.

"Not your one. Your Mum's. Where's your Mum's phone?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"If she did die of gas poisoning, it should be somewhere in the house. Somewhere near the kitchen, or something. She could've been cooking, realised something was wrong, called you, and the gas knocked her out before she –"

I cross my arms. "If she really was in the kitchen she would've used the landline phone."

His eyes are serious; two deep pits of the darkest ebony. "Exactly. So if you find the mobile, all your questions are answered."

_I doubt it_, I want to say, but I don't. If they – whoever _they_ are, the goddamn bastards – really killed Mum, I'm sure they wouldn't leave anything telltale like that around. But still, it's something I can do; anything is better than sitting and waiting for something to happen.

"I'll take a look around the house tomorrow," I say, albeit a little reluctantly. "After the funeral. I still have the keys."

He nods – once – then leans back against a tree, the breeze stirring the threads of his uniform. He pulls up a leg carelessly, resting an arm against his knee, staring absently at the ground.

I clear my throat. "So are you going to tell me about the bet? Considering I just skipped class and all?"

He snorts, much to my surprise.

"You skipped Form with Kakashi. I don't call that class."

"If I miss three I get a detention," I say testily. "Sakura made me promise not to get any of them this year. And anyway, how do you know Kakashi? You don't even have any classes with him."

"I'm staying with him."

"What do you –"

"I'm staying with him," he says again. "Here. In Brisbane. I'm an exchange student, remember? I gotta live with someone."

"Yeah, doesn't mean you gotta live with a teacher," I point out. "Besides, that's weird. Is that even legal? Aren't you supposed to be staying with a host family and all?"

He doesn't reply. He's gone back to staring at the ground. He looks preoccupied; I open my mouth to ask him again, but he beats me to it.

"It started with my father."

My mouth snaps shut and I wait, apprehension tingling in my fingertips. He's talking about the bet. Finally.

"He... we were rich, you know. One of the richest families in Michigan, once. A few generations back. We owned a few companies, some oil wells off the coast, a casino. Even a hospital."

"What do you mean, _once_?" I prod. It feels awkward, but it feels relevant too.

"We lost it. All of it." He pauses, shifts amongst the leaves, gazes out at the gardeners tending the garden beds fifty metres away. "Two years ago. It just all... went. The oil wells ran dry: we'd pumped them so full of water, it was like trying to pull gold out of the sea. A rogue surgeon at the hospital operated illegally and killed twenty-seven patients: there was a huge court case, which we lost. Investors started sidling out from behind us. We lost two billion dollars in less than a month."

"Two billion – holy shit."

He doesn't meet my eyes.

"Father panicked."

I don't respond, still trying to visualise two billion dollars – heck, two billion anything. What would two billion apples look like? Two billion pencils? I shake my head, unable to even grasp the concept of that much money. How much is two billion?

_A lot_, the smart-ass half of my brain puts in.

_No shit_, the other half snaps back.

When I look up again, Sasuke has his elbow rested on his knee, his chin in his palm. His eyes are misted – he's somewhere else already.

"He tried to sell off. Father, I mean. Cut his losses and hope to start something new somewhere else, I think that was the plan. But I suppose when you're up that high and you're talking nine-digit-sums, it's not that easy to cut and run. We had... secrets. And we owed people money."

"They blackmailed you."

His eyes flicker slightly. "Yes. They did."

For some reason that I can't quite grasp, this entire situation feels a bit clichéd. Something... doesn't feel right, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. After a few minutes of fruitless struggling, I shake the feeling off.

"So they made a bet with you."

"With my father. It wasn't really a bet – at least, it wasn't a fair one. My brother was father's heir; they bet that Itachi would not outlive my father. Laid thirty-five million dollars on it. It was how much we owed: thirty-five million."

I say nothing, but the niggling feeling intensifies at the fringe of my skull.

"Father didn't have a choice; it was either agree, or face bankruptcy and corruption charges. He knew that they would try to kill Itachi to win – so he said yes, and two days later committed suicide. My mother and him took sleeping pills."

"You won the bet," I say sceptically.

"In a way. But what father hadn't realised, was that there was no Will. He'd written one – or at least, his attorneys had written one – but no-one could find it. The Courts ended up liquidating his shares to pay his debts anyway – they got their thirty-five million in the end, plus interest."

"What has this got to do with you?" I point out. "You said it was a bet on your life – I don't see how –"

"I knew about the bet," he interrupts coolly. "So did Itachi. They killed him last month. Now they want to kill me."

My eyebrows rise of their own accord. "Wow, I never saw that coming."

He doesn't answer, opting to stare out at the gardeners again. I realise suddenly how pale he is – his skin looks bleached, an unnatural, porcelain white.

"So they want to silence you," I continue, leaning against a tree, "So they let you come all the way across to Australia as an exchange student, and then – while you are under the spotlight of an entire school – attempt to assassinate you. Wow, Sasuke. They've got some guts."

"You don't believe me."

"Of course I don't, this is absolute bullshit," I say bluntly. "You're feeding me bullshit, Sasuke, and we both know it. I might have failed school last year, but I'm not stupid enough to fall for a story like that."

"It's the truth."

"Like hell it's the truth."

His eyes flare suddenly. "Well, what do you want? My father's Death Certificate? Court files? Newspapers? A fucking Time Magazine article? What do you want as proof then, Uzumaki?"

"I don't want proof," I say, taken by surprise. "I want to help you."

He stares at me like I've just revealed a plan to blow up the Statue of Liberty.

"You're fucking crazy."

"I'm not doing it out of charity, bastard," I snarl angrily. "I don't owe you anything. But I need to know who those bastards were that killed my mother. Unless you know who they are?"

"No. I don't."

"Well there you go. I don't have a choice, do I? Considering I'm – what was the term you used? _Involved_?"

He picks up some dried leaves, crushing them absently in his hand. The scent of eucalypt oil intensifies, a heady perfume.

"Involved. Yes. You are. Considering I've told you this much."

I sigh, leaning back and folding my arms. "I can't help you if you don't let me in, Sasuke. I can't help you if I'm blind. If I have no idea what's going on. You have to tell me the whole story. The _true_ story. Isn't that what you promised you'd tell me? The truth?"

He sends me a slanted look from under his lashes. Analysing me. I sit still, waiting for judgement to pass. Then, finally, he throws up his hands in defeat, sending crushed leaves everywhere.

"Fine, Uzumaki. You win. I'll tell you. But you need to help me, alright? That's what you said you wanted, right? To help me?"

"Yes," I say, feeling slightly guilty.

"Right. Okay." He looks suddenly nervous: something I'd never seen on him before. Like he's about to jump off a cliff and isn't sure whether someone will catch him or not.

"Okay," he says again. "Well... what I told you _was_ true. Kind of. Up to the bit about the bet. The bet was... not on Itachi. Well, it was. Sort of."

"Look, start again, okay? You're in a jumble."

He opens his mouth; stops; closes it. His mask slides back into place and his voice becomes cold again.

"We owed people money. Dangerous people – but you know that, what with your mother. Itachi was going to inherit the corporation; that was what Father wanted. But it wasn't what _they_ wanted. They had their own sources inside our corporation and they wanted one of our cousins – I think his name was Shisui, or something like that – to inherit the corporation instead. He was in the line of inheritance, just not in the _direct_ line. They told us that if Shisui inherited, they would drop the thirty-five million dollar debt; wipe it clean off the slates. But Itachi knew that if they got their way, we – Father, Mother, him, me – would be killed without a second thought, as soon as Father signed the papers. So he fought back. For us. He was the one who suggested the bet."

I nod, not daring to interrupt him. There's a genuine edge to his words, and his eyes are bitter.

"The bet was between us and them. Itachi bet that by the time Father died – by the time someone had to inherit – either him or Shisui would be dead. Last one standing inherits. Naturally, they didn't agree. It gave them no advantage over us. And if Shisui really died – then they wouldn't have a backup. It was too dangerous for them, and too easy for us. If Itachi died, there was always me to fight for inheritance."

"So Itachi dragged you in too," I whisper.

"No. He bet _on_ me. I was just fifteen at the time, and naive enough for it to work. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. He lined up three people – me, two family friends my age – and bet that if we all lived to our eighteenth birthdays, he would inherit when Father went. If not, Shisui would."

A pause.

"Shit."

"Hn," he shrugs, staring at the ground. "Itachi knew the risks. He was a good brother. He did what he had to do. It was either that and they take our corporation legally if we lose, or we all die anyway and they take our corporation illegally. This way, at least we had a chance."

"And you're _fine_ with that?!" I splutter. "The fact that your brother pretty much just lined you up and said 'don't kill me, kill him'?!"

"Like I said, this way we had a chance," he insists. "And besides, my brother – he loved me. He protected me. Until last year. They got him last year; a week later, Father and Mother went too. Suicide, like I said before. Sleeping pills."

"What about the other two?"

"The other two what?"

The other two halves of your _brain_, I want to say: but he doesn't seem like the type of person who would appreciate sarcasm.

"The other two targets – family friends – whatever."

"Still alive. I think."

"You _think_?! You're not sure?!"

"Yes, I _think_," he says touchily. "Unlike you."

Bloody bastard. I should set Sakura on him. She'd beat his brains out with a skillet in under a minute, cue Guiness World Record.

"Don't you care? About them?"

He blinks at me slowly, as if thinking it over. "Of course I care. I just need to care about myself first. Considering I'm now the only heir to the corporation."

This guy has a serious ego problem. I resist the urge to deliver a cutting remark and decide to satisfy my curiosity instead.

"If Itachi's dead, why don't they just take over the company anyway?"

"Because I'm here."

"Then the bet was pretty useless, wasn't it," I mumble grumpily, stuffing my hands in my armpits. The wind's picking up; the sun's gone behind a cloud, and it's surprisingly cold. "Considering no-one has to play by the rules."

He snorts, looking away. I watch him, as sneakily as I can, observing the way his hair shifts with the breeze and falls over his eyes. He swallows, and his Adam's apple rides on his throat. I shake myself and look away, trying to hide my fascination.

"Itachi thought of that. There was someone – one of Father's friends, a contact, who worked for the government. I don't know what the fine print was, but he had a letter or something or other concerning the bet – if something happened to us, or if the bet rules were broken, it would be handed to the government. Something like that."

"So the government knows. Since Itachi's dead."

"No. The government doesn't know."

I lift my eyes questioningly to his.

"I don't know what happened, but the letter never got through. No-one but Itachi knew who the contact was, so don't ask me whether he's alive," he says, anticipating me. "I don't know. Nobody knows."

This is absolutely insane.

"You're nuts, you know that?" I declare, standing up and dusting off my trousers. I don't want to hear any more. I've had enough of crazy conspiracy theories for today. And besides, the bell's just rung, signifying the end of Form – and the start of Biology. I might just make it in time.

His eyes follow me up, and he quirks an eyebrow.

"What? I'm nuts because I don't know?"

"You're just – nuts, okay? Why do I need to give you a reason? Not that I'm short of reasons," I add, checking my watch.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry. I thought you were capable of higher reasoning. A misjudgement on my part."

"Teme."

"Dobe."

"Don't call me that!" I holler.

He smirks; laughter dances in his eyes. And then he does something I've never seen him do before.

He smiles.

* * *

**A/N: Oh God, long Chapter. Really long Chapter. Completely took it out of me. I'm absolutely and thoroughly dead. I hope you liked it. If not, I'm pretty sure I will cry and then collapse. But let me know anyway, so I can cry and collapse with certainty. Please honour my stupendous effort with a stupendous number of reviews.**

**Oh, and if you're wondering why I had to have Sasuke give two different versions to the bet, it was because I felt that Sasuke's character wouldn't open up that easily. You have to poke him hard to get him to say something useful other than "Hn." – or at least that was what I felt reading the manga, but then again, I haven't read Shippuden. So, what the hell.**

**So... is Sasuke lying or not? Has he told the entire truth... or is he still hiding something? What do you guys think?**

**Eh, review. Now. I'm too tired to phrase it subtly. If I have 21 people with this story on alert, and 8 with it on fave, then the modest target of reaching 50 reviews for this story up to Chapter 6 isn't too bad, is it? Come on people, let's try for it. 50 reviews! Or even higher? Please? :puppy eyes: More reviews more author inspiration faster updates!**

**Anyway, 'Til next time,**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**


	7. Gaara Sabaku

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

**A/N: Oh, I cannot begin to say how much I love you all for your reviews! Thank-you so much! I just want to address a few things before I get onto the Chapter:**

**Firstly, I've had a lot of people commenting on how they didn't expect this story to 'go down this path', or something like that – meaning they were expecting a typical high-school fic, instead of what I currently have concocted. Hmm. I don't know – I've always been one for plot, and, well, the high-school type stories just seem to drift along too much for me. (No offense, anyone!) Do you guys think my Summary is too ambiguous? Maybe I should make it a bit more explicit the direction the story is going?**

**A lot of people have also asked me to get a bit more SasuNaru in. I know, I know, that's what we're all here for, right? But I'm not really a fan of the throw-them-in-a-room-and-have-them-shag-each-other kind of story; it seems... too shallow, you know what I mean? So I have to have the history and the background and the plotline. And if Naruto seems a bit cool towards Sasuke at the moment, it's because his Mum's just died and it's kind of Sasuke's fault... A bit difficult to fall immediately in love in those sorts of circumstances! So I'm taking it a bit more slowly, enjoying the ride, knowing that every little clash and argument is drawing them closer inside (but they just don't know it yet). Patience, people. Real life doesn't go so fast.**

**Also, I'm in the process of planning a new fic called **_**Requiem**_**: the Summary is on my Profile Page. Please check it out! The actual story's not there yet; I'm working on it. Story debut will be sometime in May. Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think!**

**Thanks! Please don't forget to review!**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Gaara Sabaku**

The sky is bright, the sun treacherously high. I stand by the coffin as it slowly drifts downward, my eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, my hands clasped in front of me. Up ahead, black crows squaw and cackle, tossing rubbish scraps to each other with their glossy beaks. Tsunade stands a little way behind me, Jiraiya – sober for once – silent by her side. Above me, Jacarandas sway with deliberate lethargy, casting a lavender light over the fresh white tombstone and the damp black earth. There's a soft bump; the coffin stops; I close my eyes.

"Naruto."

"I know," I say quietly.

The first hand of earth lands with a hollow thud on the coffin's lid. I swallow as the remaining earth is filled, keeping my eyes on the tombstone.

_Kushina Uzumaki _

_(1969-2008)_

_A loving daughter. A loving wife. A loving mother._

"Don't worry, Mum," I whisper, moving to run my fingers over the smooth stone. "I'll find who did this to you. I'll find them. I promise."

As I turn, something catches my eye.

A head of red hair; some distance away, hidden amongst the Jacaranda trees. I frown slightly, squinting at the spot – it's hard to see it clearly in the dappled shadows of the Jacarandas, despite its colour. After a moment, the head shifts, and I catch a face: unrecognisable from this distance, but my heart skips a beat as my mind registers who it must be.

_Gaara_.

_What does he want...?_

Before I can give it any more thought, Tsunade is there by my side, a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her perceptive eyes seek out my face, but she chooses not to comment.

"Take your time, alright, Naruto? Stay as long as you want. Don't worry about us. Jiraiya and I will be waiting at the car."

"I'm taking a ride with Sakura to my house," I say, still staring uncertainly into the Jacarandas. "I just... want to take one last look at it before someone else moves in next week."

She knows something's going on: Tsunade has the instincts of a lynx. For a moment she frowns, trying to read me; then she sighs, tucks an errant strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear. Her expression is surprisingly resigned – surprising, because I've never known Tsunade to back down without a fight.

"Fine. You have the keys, right? We'll be back at the apartment then. I need to put some of those new brocade curtains up."

"Ha," says Jiraiya, suddenly appearing at her side. "You said _I_. _I_ need to put some curtains up. Therefore, you won't need me. I'm going to Cloud Nine to –"

"Oh shut up, you," Tsunade barks, and shoves him away. "You're not going anywhere. Get in the car. Now."

When they've gone – when the coffin is fully buried – I send another glance to the Jacaranda trees, but the shock of red hair is gone. Trying my best to pass it off as a hallucination, I crouch and give myself up to the memory of my mother.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, I decide to take a walk amongst the Jacarandas. My curiosity is worse than a cat's: it's gotten me into trouble before, but I've never been one to learn from mistakes. The sun is lower now and feels strangely warm on my face. The crows have taken their debates elsewhere; the silence roars in my ears. I pick my way slowly between the trees, occasionally trailing my fingers along a trunk, feeling the knobbly bark – still damp with dew – on my skin.

I'm about halfway through the cemetery, with crosses and tombstones on either side, when I hear my name.

"Naruto."

"Gaara."

I turn, and there he is. Pale skin, almost luminous in the mottled light; heavy eyes, but the gaze is shockingly light, the icy green fierce yet strangely dispassionate. His hair is darker than I remembered it, but the light shifts and I can't be sure either way. The bold strokes of Kanji – _love_, I recognise it from my Japanese lessons – a tattoo, just left of his forehead. In this light, it reminds me of a dark snake, twisting in inky knots over the smooth skin.

A familiar fear stirs in my chest but I push it down, attempting indifference. It doesn't work. I might as well be a goose trying to pass off as a Rhode Island Red.

"What do you want –"

He moves so fast I don't even have time to draw a startled breath. His hand finds the collar of my suit jacket and he shoves me, roughly, against a nearby Jacaranda, knocking the air from my lungs. The next moment he's right there, his lips inches from mine, his bright green eyes staring straight at me. My eloquence leaves me in a fevered rush.

"Wha – the fuck – get off –"

"You left."

"I – what –"

"Why did you leave?"

He kisses me; his lips are as cold as his eyes, smothering me. I choke, shoving at his chest. He bites me at that, angrily, drawing blood. I still immediately and he laughs softly against my mouth, his tongue flicking over my warm blood.

"There's no-one here to protect you now, Naruto. No-one to pull you away before my questions are answered. And they will be answered."

"Fuck off," I gasp, fighting for my breath.

"What do you mean? You came to me. I didn't force you to do anything. You came here of your own free will."

"I came here for my mother's funeral," I bite out forcefully. "Not for you."

To my shock, he pulls away. I take the unforeseen opportunity to fill my lungs again, swiping a hand across my bleeding lip to stop the blood. Wouldn't want to stain a hired suit. Tsunade would kill me.

"What do you mean, your mother's funeral? Your mother's dead?"

"No," I say. My fear fuels my anger, making my voice come out steadier than I'd anticipated. "She's alive. This is just a dress rehearsal. For next year."

"Don't fuck around with me," he hisses, shoving me again.

"That's what everyone else said, but it's a bit too late for that, don't you think?" I hiss back before I can stop myself.

His fist connects with my cheek and I gasp at the sharp pain, rebellious tears stinging the backs of my eyes. My sight is spinning like a badly-made top. I thrash out wildly with an arm – or is it a leg? – but there's no momentum behind it and he dodges easily, grabbing my jacket and lobbing me against another tree. He follows the thrust and is there before I've even drawn a breath.

"You were never good at this, Naruto."

The words rasp past my ear, grating along my neck. He punctuates them with another punch, but I've seen it coming and my arm raises in a feeble attempt to block him. He hits my forearm instead; I bite back a cry, letting my bone take the hit. He doesn't flinch but takes instant advantage, pinning my arm above my head.

"Any more, Naruto? You got any more moves you want to make on me?"

"Shut your mouth." My words come out low and husky, hindered by my blood. "Last time I looked, you were the one making moves on _me_. Or have you forgotten that already?"

His gaze skewers me against the tree; _no point worrying about the suit now_, my mind babbles uselessly. _Tsunade is going to have more to deal with than just blood stains._

"I ask the questions," he growls. I can taste his breath on my lips. "Not you. Me."

I laugh, leaning heavily on the contempt. "Go ahead then, Gaara. But are you sure you don't want to load me up with truth serum before we start? Just in case?"

He snarls, and for a split second I'm scared absolutely shitless. He looks like he's about to tear my intestines out, and I know him well enough not to dismiss the possibility. His eyes blaze a hellish green and I hold my breath.

"Why did you leave?"

"You need to ask that?" I say. I'm pushing it; I know I am. But I can't help it. Adrenaline makes me reckless.

"Answer. Now."

"We moved," I lie. "We moved to Chapel Hill. Two months ago."

"Why."

"The contract expired. We had to rent a new house –"

"Don't lie to me." He shakes me; hard. "I don't need to put up with this bullshit. I can make you talk, Naruto. Don't push me."

"Why the fuck do you care?" I gnash out from between clenched teeth. "Move on. Find some other asshole stupid and naive enough to fall for your crap and screw them instead. I have a girlfriend, Gaara. I'm not yours anymore."

"You don't understand," he whispers, his tone low. "It's not that."

I'm tired of all this: first Sasuke, then Mum, now Gaara. What is it with everyone not telling me what's going on until I bash them about the head for a week or so? I'm right at the centre of everything – and no-one's telling me _anything_ voluntarily. Everything's my fault; I can't do anything right; but no-one's going to tell me what the _fuck_ I'm doing wrong in the first place. The bottled-up frustration erupts, overruling over my fear and venting right out past my lips.

"It's not _what_, you retard?!"

To my surprise, he actually ignores my insult. "It's not what you think."

"_What_'s not what I think? What do I _think_, even? What the fuck is going on here?! Tell me, Gaara. Now. Or else, I swear to God, I..."

"I have to protect you."

The frayed edges of my nerves all gather at that, and my dazed mind finally manages to focus. "Protect me? From who?"

"From the Akatsuki."

I almost stamp in agitation. "The Akatsuki? The Akatsuki? Who the fuck are they? The dickheads you bought cocaine off last weekend? Who? Why won't anyone just give me a straight answer for once?"

"I don't do cocaine," he sniffs. "I do heroin."

I stare at him, stifling the ridiculous urge to laugh. This must be a dream. It has to be. My life cannot be this fucked up in reality. It was fine two months ago. And now...

"Who are they, Gaara."

"They're the ones who killed your mother. And they want to kill you."

He shoves off me; my mind's not right at the moment, so I forget to stand properly and slide down the tree instead.

"Kill me? Why me? What did I do?"

He sends me one last significant look, his eyes almost seeming to frost over. As he goes, my eyes follow him with the disorganised flicker of the drunk or severely wounded. His movements are fluid, catlike; despite the fight, he looks exactly the same as when I'd first seen him. His voice is soft as it drifts back toward me on the Summer breeze.

"Stay away from Sasuke, Naruto. If you want to live until your eighteenth birthday."

* * *

"Oh my God, Naruto!!"

She's out of the car before I can stop her. I hold up a hand to ward her off, but she misunderstands the gesture and snatches my fingers, pulling them toward her.

"Oh God, you're bleeding! Oh my God! I'll call an ambulance!"

"No!"

I manage to grab her around the waist before she's gone two steps, her movement jerking us both a good metre or so, straight into the side of her car. The impact hurts. A lot.

"Ow!"

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, are you okay?! Oh my God. Oh my God. Where does it hurt, baby? Tell me where. Where does it hurt?"

I've never really understood how, in women's minds, an injured male equals a small toddler, and hence must be spoken to as such. Or at least, that's how Sakura functions. In her mind, I inevitably get younger every time I get hurt.

"I'm fine, Sakura, really. I just... fell over." At her disbelieving stare, I add a hasty, "Into a ditch."

"Into a ditch. Ha ha, Naruto. Good one. Now tell me: does that hurt?"

I answer with a yelp of pain and she coos at me for half a minute, dabbing her sleeve across my lip. It's embarrassing to be cosseted like this in public – we're right across from a park and a young family on a tartan picnic rug is staring at us with their mouths hanging open – and I mumble some incoherent excuses, trying to pull away.

"Don't move, I've stopped the bleeding. There. I'll get you to the hospital, okay? Here. I'll open the car door for you."

(Because I've obviously just lost both my arms to a ditch and can't do so myself.)

"I'm fine," I insist mulishly. "I don't need to go to hospital. Really."

She slams the car door on me and crosses to the driver's seat, sliding into it. She almost reaches across to fasten my seatbelt for me, but I've anticipated that and done it myself.

She smiles instead and starts the car. It's then that I know I'm in deep shit.

We don't even get past the Toowong roundabout before the storm breaks.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING, NARUTO?! YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE, NARUTO UZUMAKI, OR ELSE I SWEAR I WILL –"

"I fell," I persist, but without any hope. "I did; this, uh, cut on my lip here was from a cat that –"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO LIE TO ME!!"

I wince. That would have taken out at least my left eardrum. At least.

"I'm not –"

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I AM ABOUT YOU?! HOW WORRIED ALL OF US ARE?! AND NOW YOU GO AND GET YOURSELF INTO A FIGHT AND COME BACK ALL BLOODY AND –"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" I say. "And it wasn't a fight. Really."

Her response is a sharp, furious wrench on the steering wheel, sending us straight into a line of traffic. For a second I'm convinced we're about to dent the front of her Mercedes into a bus but she brakes just in time, nearly sending me into the dashboard.

By the time I've recovered, she's breathing heavily and staring out of the windscreen like a robot.

"I _am_ sorry, Sakura. I've shut you out the past couple of days and... I'm sorry."

She turns to me; her eyes are wet. "No, Naruto, you're right. I'm just being selfish, and I shouldn't be like that. It's just... I'm worried about you. Really worried. Kiba, Ino, Chouji, Neji – we're all worried."

"I know. But you don't need to be – I'm holding up okay."

"No you're not!" she blurts out. "I mean, well, yes, okay, maybe you are. But yesterday at school you didn't speak to anyone – not even to Kiba, not really – and you spent the whole time brooding and staring at that Sasiko –"

" – Sasuke," I correct automatically.

"Sasuke, Sasiko, close enough. Point is, you wouldn't stop staring at him. All during Maths, Neji said; you were on him like a hawk."

Is it true? Was I really staring at him? I can't even remember. Not consciously staring, at any rate. Neji's just weird; reading too much into things. He tends to do that sometimes.

"Neji said that?" I say indignantly. "I did not stare at him, Sakura, don't believe crap like that –"

"Neji wouldn't lie to me," she says. "Kiba wouldn't lie to me. You skipped Form with that Sasuke, didn't you? For a whole hour?"

"Yes," I admit, "But it's not what you think –"

"I thought Gaara would have taught you to stay away from people like that, Naruto."

I don't say anything. I can't say anything. My throat feels raw, like someone's just taken to it with a carrot grater.

"I understand how you feel, alright? You're a good person inside, you can't bear to see others unhappy. You're drawn to unhappiness. I know that. That's what lead you to Gaara – you're too sympathetic, you can't stand watching others in their loneliness without helping them. I understand that, Naruto."

"It's not like that," I whisper weakly, without a shred of conviction. "I don't –"

"It's the same with Sasuke, isn't it? He's alone; he quite obviously has problems; he needs sorting out. But that doesn't mean you need to do the sorting out for him, Naruto. You've got your own life to live. You don't need to dive into other people's problems for them, they have to learn to do it themselves. It's their problems, and it's their fault."

"You're wrong," I say quietly. "Sasuke has problems; but they're not his fault."

She glances at me, taking the next turn slowly. There's a slight pause.

"What did you talk about for the whole hour you were with him yesterday, Naruto? A whole hour."

I prop my elbow up against the window and stare at my reflection in the side mirror. How could I ever tell her? About sitting in the car on her kerbside, about starting the car, about the car door yanking open and a boy, a boy with black hair and cold eyes, getting in as if it was something he did every second day; about the call from my mother, her voice choking out my name...

I couldn't. I couldn't be so selfish and drag her into this mess.

"Nothing much," I mumble.

But even now, I can still see Sasuke's smile: even as I drift my eyes over my own face in the car mirror, I can see his superimposed upon it like a translucent image, fading at places but solid in others. His eyes are the most prominent: dark, swirling, hard. The way his entire face transforms when he smiles – like Winter melting into a transitory Spring – it's there, right there, and the tangles of his world are so palpable I can almost reach out beyond Sakura's car window and touch them.

"Naruto?"

"Are we there yet?"

Her green eyes, so much softer than Gaara's, waver slightly. I've hurt her; but I don't know how.

"No," she whispers, turning back to the road. "We're not there yet."

* * *

**A/N: So the cracks start to appear... Okay, no huge Author's Note here. Considering I've already used up my quota at the beginning of this Chapter. Not a long Chapter today; it'll be longer next time. I promise.**

**EDIT SasuNaru coming up – if not next Chapter, then the one after.**

**Review! Review! Now! (Do it... Haha!)**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**


	8. A Grain of Rice

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

**A/N:** **Whoops, one day late, sorry!** **I don't really know about Kushina Uzumaki's character, so here I've invented my own version of her. Minato as well. Another long Chapter, this one. Hope you don't mind. Please don't forget to review!**

* * *

**Chapter 8: A Grain of Rice**

_The museum is quiet, a studious silence punctuated only by the soft hum of the air-conditioning and the slow tap of shoes on tile. I put my small hand in his and we move through the display rooms, pausing now and then to point at paintings, sculptures, murals. I feel safe with him. His presence permeates the entire room, seeps into my skin. With him near me, I feel that I can do anything._

"_Dad, what's this?"_

_He pauses, looks at the painting in question, then looks down at me. "Do you want to see?"_

"_Yeah!"_

_He swoops down and hefts me up onto his shoulders, laughing as I scrabble for handholds. I settle for clinging to his hair – blonde, like mine – and leaning my chin on his head, squinting at the framed painting before us._

"_It's ugly," I say, with childish confidence. I'm four: old enough to form a professional opinion on such important matters as art._

"_You think so?" He bounces me closer to the painting, so close my outstretched fingertips can just touch the glass._

"_Yeah. It's ugly."_

_He laughs again, and the sound is like sunshine. "Then take a look at this, Naruto. Tell me what you think of this."_

_He moves to a display case, me wobbling but impervious on his shoulders. He points downward; I have to shuffle forwards to see past his hair._

"_What do you think it is?" he asks me._

_I stare at it. "Rice."_

"_Just rice?"_

_I stare a bit harder. "Yeah. Spotty rice."_

_He bends lower so I can see better, bringing my face right up against the glass._

"_You see the spots, Naruto? The black spots? What do you think they are?"_

_I grin at my reflection in the glass. "Yucky stuff!"_

_He chuckles, reaching up to ruffle my hair. "No, not yucky stuff. That's ink. Those black spots are words: Kanji, written on the rice grains by specially trained people in ancient China."_

_I shake my head. "No. Too small."_

"_They are small: very small. But they are words. You'd need a magnifying glass to read them. Isn't that wonderful? That someone would be able to write such tiny words on a single grain of rice – so small you couldn't even read them? So small you thought it was just a grain of rice and nothing else?"_

_I wrinkle my nose, not really sure what the fuss is about. "Yeah. I guess."_

_To my surprise, he reaches up under my arms and lifts me gently back down off his shoulders, setting me on my feet before crouching down to my height. I stare back at him, wide-eyed. Had I done something wrong?_

"_Naruto, do you know why I asked you to look at that grain of rice just then?"_

_I shake my head: too young to lie._

"_It's because I want you to learn something: that not all things are what they appear to be. Don't take things at face- value – do you know what I mean, Naruto? A grain of rice is not simply just a grain of rice. You need to look underneath the underneath."_

_I nod. I want to make him happy._

"_Sure, Dad!"_

* * *

I jerk awake. The heavy sunlight hurts, a bright contrast to the inside of my eyelids. I wince, covering my eyes with a hand. Ugh. Should have taken it slowly.

"We're almost there, Naruto."

"Hmm."

I squint out of the windows at the scenery flying past: little box houses with their drought-stricken front lawns, their unwashed Fords and Toyotas and Subarus parked resignedly by street curbs and on concrete driveways. We're in familiar territory – I know this suburb, grew up in its gutters and hills and hydrangea bushes. I know the scrub turkeys and the crows and the crested pigeons, daring cars to run over them but flapping away – indignantly – at the last minute. I know the air and the ground and the inside of neighbours' swimming pools. I know them, and yet the events of the past week have driven them to the back of my memory, so faint only a dim scent of their presence remains.

I glance at my watch.

"It took us one hour to get here?!"

Sakura doesn't look away from the road, swipes her indicators on. "We got stuck in traffic. Went at a crawl for half an hour. Sorry."

I shake my head, feeling a bit guilty. "Nah, it's not your fault. I'm just surprised, that's all. Did I really sleep for all that time? You should've woken me up, forced me to provide some interesting conversation."

"I tried," she snorts, "But it was like trying to wake a stone gargoyle. Anyway, we're here. Where do you want me to park? Do you have the keys to the garage?"

I shift to reach my pockets and my sore muscles scream at me. I'd forgotten about the incident with Gaara; now it all comes back, quite painfully. I suddenly realise what I must look like in Sakura's car – bloody, bruised, beaten-up. Reminds me of a certain someone.

"Ugh, I think I'll get cleaned up when we get inside. Take a shower, maybe."

"Good idea. Garage or curb?"

"Curb will do. Our garage is cluttered anyway."

_And my Mum's Corolla is in there_, I add to myself.

"Suit yourself," she says, and yanks the Mercedes to a halt. She's out of the car before I've even managed to move a finger; I can't see what she's getting out of the boot, but knowing her, it's probably some schoolwork she wants to finish while I'm busy in the house.

I get out of the car and make my way over to the boot, expecting to see the new Biology assignment in her hands – half-finished already – but instead she pulls out a picnic basket.

"You bought – food?!"

She laughs. "We gotta eat, Naruto. It's five past one. Why, what were you expecting? We'd whip something up from what's in your fridge?"

"I thought it was the Biology assignment," I mumble, helping her close the boot.

"At a time like this? I'm not that horrible a girlfriend, I hope."

I smile. Sakura, when she's in the mood, can cheer anyone up with her banter.

"Well?" she says. "Lead the way. You have the keys."

The inside of the house is cold and still, but what really gets me is its silence. I pull the key from the lock, stepping aside to let Sakura through first; she misreads me and takes a step back too, looking around the doormat as if expecting a dog or cat to come vaulting out of the house. Sakura's never been one for pets.

"Don't worry, we don't have any pets. Nothing hairy."

"I know that," she says, but she looks relieved anyway. "After you."

I make my way to the kitchen, Sakura tagging along behind with her picnic basket. The place is spotless: Mum was always a good organiser. She cleaned everything before you'd even realised you'd made a mess. Mum...

I sigh. No point thinking about stuff like that right now.

The kitchen is small and homely, and looking at it, I can see my Mum's hand in everything. The oven, mitts hanging off the handle; the battered old microwave, second-hand and older than me; the stoves, the meticulously-wiped benches, the wilting flowers above the wooden cupboards. The fridge, old and wheezing, plastered with magnets; a feather-duster on top of it, my Mum's favourite tool.

I'm just about to slide into one of the wicker high chairs by the side of the kitchen bench – to help myself to the picnic basket Sakura's left there – when something catches my eye.

"Naruto? Do you want to eat now or wait until a bit later?"

"A bit later thanks," I call back – I think she's in the living room. She must have slipped in there when I wasn't looking.

At any rate, I can worry about her later. I slide out of the chair, getting on my hands and knees and peering underneath the fridge.

There's rice under the fridge.

Uncooked rice – just rice grains, about a handful, scattered on the floor. I can only just see them – a few are poking out from below the bottom of the fridge. If you were standing next to the fridge, you wouldn't see them; the only reason I'd noticed them was because I'd seen them from an angle. I frown, trying to bend lower, but Gaara shoving me against a tree earlier this morning has taken its toll.

_Stay away from Sasuke..._

Something jitters in my stomach. Damn it! I shove the memories away forcibly and navigate myself until I'm flat against the floor, my chest against the cold tiles, my head turned to the side. There. The rice, on an otherwise spotless floor.

A perverse coincidence, perhaps? After my dream in the car... with Dad...

_A grain of rice is not just a grain of rice..._

But why are they here at all?! My Mum had cleaned under the fridge the day before she went. I'd helped her hoist the stupid Westinghouse Freestyle out of the way while she, her long red hair swept up fastidiously into a bun, clattered away with her vacuum cleaner and mop. One of my last memories of her – her cleaning, me standing by, leaning against the fridge and providing unhelpful hints like "You missed a corner" and "There's a speck just there" and "The vacuum cord is stuck".

But at any rate, it had been cleaned...

... so why...?

"I think we should put the wedges on the – Naruto, what are you doing?"

Sakura. Her voice, leaping at me in the middle of my thoughts, nearly sends my heart off the edge of a cliff.

"I – that is – don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Push-ups," I offer weakly, getting to my feet. A migraine's started: I feel like an over-enthusiastic woodpecker has gotten into my skull and is drilling for worms. "Cross-country starts this term. What did you say before? Oh, wedges. Yes. Oven. That way."

"Push-ups?" she repeats, looking confused. Don't blame her, really.

"No. Yes. I mean, oven. I don't know how to work this thing, Mum always –"

I stop my mindless prattling, feeling extraordinarily overwhelmed – and not just by the oven. Sakura notices. She sighs, clucks at me, and moves towards the appliance, shaking her pink head.

"Go get a shower, Naruto. Clear your head a bit."

"I'm fine," I insist, opening a cupboard. "I'll just help you get a bowl for –"

I stop.

Someone's been in the house.

I know it now, with certainty. That's why there's rice under the fridge. The particulars aren't clear – but someone's been here. Definitely.

Behind me, I can hear Sakura bustling around. "You boys are so hopeless at cooking. I had a friend once who couldn't tell a quiche from a meat-pie. I hope _you_ can. Right, Naruto? You can, can't you? Naruto? What's the mat – oh."

She's seen it too.

All our bowls – our crockery – plates, dishes, trays, porcelain jugs for milk – Dad bought them in America, at some store in the Chinatown they had there. A whole set. They were white, beautifully painted porcelain, with black designs inked on them: swirls, curves, arcs.

But the porcelain...

"Oh my God, what happened?" Sakura whispers, her eyes wide. She doesn't move, the oven mitts hanging almost comically from her wrists.

"I don't know," I whisper back.

Why are we whispering? God knows. At least I don't.

"Was it – like that originally, Naruto?"

"Are you kidding me?" I ask incredulously. "Mum loved that set! She'd never – why would _anyone_ –"

" – scratch all the ink off?" Sakura finishes, her brow furrowing.

And someone has. All the ink – that smooth, black, sure-handed ink – on the porcelain has been scratched off roughly with what appears to have been a knife. The harsh, violent slashes against the pure white of the porcelain strikes me as eerily ironic, yet eerily appropriate. In choice places, some ink still remains, disjointed splotches of black on white.

Who was it Gaara had said? Atakusi? Something beginning with A.

Akatsuki.

What on earth is going on here...?!

The uncooked rice... the phone call – from Mum – at lunch time...

"She was preparing lunch," I say quietly. "She must have been. Cooking, that's what. That's why the rice – they knocked her, it spilled, they cleaned it up afterwards... but they didn't look under the fridge..."

Well, at least I don't need to look for Mum's mobile to know that she was murdered. Yippee.

"What?" Sakura whispers. There's a frightened edge to her words. "What are you talking about?"

I turn to her sharply. No use beating around the bush.

"My Mum was murdered."

"What – ?" She laughs nervously. "Naruto, she died of gas poisoning."

"That's what they want you to think," I mutter darkly, yanking open another cupboard, half-expecting more scratches, some smashing perhaps; but to my surprise the cupboard is untouched.

So it was just that one set...

But why?! Why?! _Why?!_

"I think I'll take a shower," I say suddenly. "Yes. I think I will."

"What, now? Naruto – hang on – what's going on?"

But I've already ducked out of the kitchen, my feet moving by themselves through the living room and the rumpus. The closed curtains seem to mock me, taunting my inaptitude. And I am inapt. I know I am. I couldn't stop this, even when I had the opportunity: and now everything is spiralling, spiralling out of my control...

_If you want to live until your eighteenth birthday..._

_He lined up three people... if we all lived to our eighteenth birthdays, he would inherit..._

_Naruto – hang on – what's going on?_

_If only I knew_, I think grimly as I mount the stairs. _If I only I knew..._

* * *

The hot water is a blessing. My bruises – they aren't even real bruises yet, just a familiar soreness that by tomorrow will leave angry blue and green patches on my skin – go numb under the jets of water, fading. I scrub myself gently, glad to get rid of the blood from my mouth and the twigs and bark from my hair. There's a welt on my lip. The old cuts on my hands have reopened, and new ones have formed. My body feels like someone's just bulldozed it with a steamroller.

All in all, not feeling too crash hot right now.

But then again, I suppose it could be worse. I could be dead, for example.

I turn off the taps, shaking my hair until it's no longer dripping wet before stepping out of the shower. My hired suit lies limply on the floor – I doubt any amount of dry cleaning is going to save it now. I try not to think about what Tsunade will do to me once she finds out, instead pulling on a clean T-shirt and jeans salvaged from my old bedroom, raking my fingers through my hair to comb it. The suit I gather up and dump in the washing basket in the corner of the bathroom, before I remember that Mum isn't around to put it through the laundry anymore.

I stare at it at the bottom of the basket for a while before sighing and scooping it back up. Guess Tsunade will have to see it at its worst. Hopefully, if I puppy-eye her enough, she'll spare my kidneys.

My Mum's bedroom is just around the corner and I troop past it, heading for the stairs. My head's a bit clearer now, and I can actually think.

Wait.

I backtrack to the door of Mum's room, gnawing on my bottom lip and peeking inside. Perhaps they – whoever the Akatsuki are – didn't just restrict themselves to the kitchen. Maybe they came upstairs, too?

Shoving the balled-up suit under my arm, I walk past Mum's bed and open a bedside drawer. Nothing unusual there. A Bible – Mum read it as a novelty; a few hair ties, a novel (_War and Peace_), a bunch of odd buttons.

The other drawer: thimble, a full acupuncture set, an abacus, though God knows why. Two more buttons, a pack of tissues.

This feels a bit bad, going through her stuff. I swallow the guilt, closing the bedside and turning to her cupboards.

Her clothes, neatly folded and neatly hung on metal clothes racks, some bags and hats. A shoe with a broken heel. A jewellery box, tucked tidily beside the shoe.

I open the box, not really expecting anything. Her pearls are there; a diamond necklace she bought in Los Angeles, some earrings, some rings, a golden locket Dad bought her on their wedding. I pick up the locket, feeling a strange attachment to it – perhaps because it was once Dad's, then Mum's, now finally anonymous – and try to open it. It doesn't budge; it's been soldered closed.

I weigh the locket in my palm, feeling my parents' presence lingering in it somehow, before slipping it reluctantly into my jeans pocket.

At the bottom of the box is a photo. I take it out gently, my chest tightening.

Me, Mum, Dad; together, at the Southbank Parklands, me only four or five, grinning and holding one of those ridiculously large, multicoloured lollipops – a bite's been taken out of it. Dad, his arm around Mum's waist, me perched on his shoulders, has a grin on to rival mine. Mum, her red hair in a cascade down her back, her smile sweet, leaning in to ruffle my hair – the three of us, so close, so perfect, so free.

I stare at the photo for a long time, before slipping that in my pocket too.

* * *

"Ahhh! It's burning! Get it off! Get it off!"

"Shut up, Kiba – turn it off, then! No, not that button – that's the grill button! Stupid! That one!"

"Shit, this thing smells worse than a –"

"Thank-you, we don't need to know," Sakura cuts in sharply.

I can hear their voices clearly as I descend the stairs. Kiba's here? Not just him, by the sounds of it. I think that's Neji laughing in the background.

"What do we do now, man? Damn thing's blacker than a kettle. You gonna try and make us eat that, Sakura? You're not serious. We'd die of salmonella."

"You get salmonella from eating chicken, dumbass!" Sakura says, exasperated. "Look, just get out for a moment, okay? See if Naruto's out of the shower yet. He's been there a year."

Kiba's scruffy head pokes out from the kitchen; he yelps upon seeing me standing there.

"Fuck! Jesus! Man, don't sneak up like that! Yeah, Naruto's here. Nearly gave me a heart attack. What took you so long, man? Drowning yourself in there?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," I say carelessly, plonking myself into a chair. "Don't worry about the wedges, Sakura, I got a year's supply of ramen in one of those cupboards. Just dig them out."

She wrinkles her nose. "Ramen. Should've expected that."

"Hey, Naruto, man, how's things holding up? Whoa, what happened to your face? Your lip's all busted."

"Fell in the shower, haha. I'm just clumsy," I say, feeling a bit awkward. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Well, I dunno about Neji, but I got a text from Sakura here saying someone broke into the house and –"

"Sakura sent you a text?" I say, glaring at her. She pretends not to see and busies herself with opening cupboards. "Don't worry about it, Kiba, some looters came through and went through the house a bit. Took some of Mum's jewellery. A few rings. Nothing serious, they weren't that valuable anyway."

"What?" says Kiba, scratching his head. "Sakura said it was something to do with the crockery –"

"Kiba, shut up," says Neji amiably from next to the microwave. His arms are crossed over his grey hoodie and his eyes are passive. "Sakura, you need any help?"

"With what? Boiling water? I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself, thank-you. Not an invalid yet, Neji."

"Could've fooled me," Kiba mutters, unable to resist the opportunity. "Meh, if you say you're fine, Naruto, I won't press it. But drop over to my place if anything happens, alright? Actually, speaking of which, I'm holding a party tomorrow night."

"Kiba!" Sakura wails. "You're so tactless! Mentioning parties at a time like this... look, just get out."

"Huh?"

"It's okay, seriously!" I interject.

Honestly, I appreciate what they're trying to do – cheer me up and all that – but their sympathy and their treating me like a minefield is a little... over the top.

"You're having a party, right. Why? Someone's eighteenth?"

"Nup," he says contentedly, glaring at Sakura's back. "Just for fun. For kicks. Haven't had a good bash in months. Sister's down in Sydney for a conference, so I'm all alone for a week. Freedom!"

"So you decide to waste your entire house by the time Hana gets back," Neji says calmly. "Good plan. I like it."

"Of course you like it. It's brilliant."

"Original, too," Sakura mumbles from the stove, rolling her eyes. "It's not like every high-school kid in Australia hasn't tried the same thing."

"You guys coming, though?"

"What, a party with just the four of us?" Sakura says. "Whoopie. Some party."

Kiba flips her off. Luckily for him, she's not watching. "No, duh. There'll be some other people. Not too many, though, I don't want a tidal wave. You coming, Neji?"

The brown-haired boy thinks it over, finally nodding. His perfect nails drum against the bench top. "Why not."

"So Hinata's coming too?" Kiba adds, a little too quickly.

"I guess."

"Ha!"

Kiba pumps his fist into the air. We all laugh. He goes red – surprisingly – and turns hurriedly to me, embarrassed.

"Er, Naruto, you're coming, right?"

I don't know. A party – the day after a funeral? Who would have thought it? Tsunade would flip, but not to my face, I know. And how would that look to others?

"Nah, maybe not. I'm a bit busy."

"Oh come on!" he whines, getting up and jumping on me. The action knocks us both backwards off the chair; we end up a tangled mess of limbs and shirts and confused shoving. I feel Mum's locket digging into me from the pocket of my jeans. "Have some fun! Just one night. Come on. One night, Naruto. You might even manage to get Sakura drunk," he adds, waggling his eyebrows.

"I heard that," Sakura snaps. "And anyway, I don't drink."

"Prude. And I bet that's not true anyway. Last time I went to your house you had five bottles of Jack Daniels hidden under your desk."

"What! What were you doing in my house?!"

He shrugs, showing his canines in a grin. "Just pulling out your computer cords. The usual."

I laugh, punching him lightly on the chest to get him off me. He rolls onto the floor, his shirt snagging.

"Fine, I'll come. But I won't stay too long, alright? I gotta start Biology."

Sakura smiles at me. Kiba doesn't.

"What! You're fucking kidding me, man! Biology?! What's next, Paris Hilton with a brain?!"

"Alright, alright!" I swipe the hair from my eyes and pout at him. "I'll stay until one. Alright? That better, _your Highness?_"

He sighs with exaggerated drama, but his eyes are laughing. "Ugh, fine. I suppose if you leave at one you'll at least get to see Sakura completely wasted before you go. Good enough for me."

* * *

**A/N: Ugh, see? This is what happens when you guys tell me to "hurry up and get to the SasuNaru": I end up with disjointed, jumpy Chapters in which I'm trying to hurry things along **_**and**_** fulfil plot points, drop hints, etc. without missing stuff out which I'll regret not putting in. See? Happy now? :pouts Naruto-style: You guys better be happy! I pulled out teeth writing this Chapter, it was so difficult, and now that I've written it I'm not all that happy with it either. Gah. **

**Anyway, next Chapter has the party. SasuNaru, finally. A bit clichéd, I know, I know, don't remind me – but I need the party and I need SasuNaru, so might as well be both put together. Next Chapter has a lighter mood, I know this Chapter was three-quarters gloom and doom but sunshine is just around the corner! Drunk Sasuke, coming right up. Meeheehee.**

**(What do you guys think is up with the crockery and stuff? I'd love to hear your theories! :D)**

**Ugh, please review. Please.**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**

**EDIT: I'm not particularly happy with how the next Chapter has turned out, so I'm rewriting. Sorry! Might take a while! Patience! Updates might be belated!**

**NEW FIC ALERT: Black Rose has come out. Please take a look, summary below:**

_When Konoha's deadliest assassin inherits the Ninth Key to the Gates of Heaven, he never expects it to be a boy; and he never expects to fall in love. But with Heaven and Hell at war, is love enough to keep Naruto alive? SasuNaru_

**It'll be on my profile page. Prologue up. Check it out!**


	9. Bump 'n Grind

**Definitely Maybe**

_A Naruto FanFiction by That.Other.Boleyn.Girl_

**Summary:**

Naruto. Sasuke. One night, one school, one secret... and one year to win a bet. Let the games begin. SasuNaruSasu

**A/N:** **Long Chapter ahead! Buckle up and get ready! SasuNaru finally! No seriousness involved, but a lot of weirdness! Woohoo!**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Bump 'n Grind**

This is the last time I trust Kiba's word on _anything_.

I sit in my car – Tsunade's, actually, but I'm not taking any more chances and I bullied her into registering it under my name – for a while longer, chewing the inside of my cheek and staring.

The damn place is _packed_.

Like, _really_ packed. Think a kilo of sardines shoved into a coke can, and you won't be far off. All the lights are on: the verandas of Kiba's house are teeming with people, most of them my age but there seem to be a few older ones as well. Uni students, perhaps. Maybe Kiba knows them through Hana, who's studying Vet at UQ, but I get the feeling that most of them are just total randoms. Most of them don't look like they're from Vet School, at any rate.

"Hey! You!"

I jump at the loud rap on my window. There's a girl there: older than me, her ash-blonde hair sticks up in two spiky tails on her head and her eyes glare fiercely at me from under heavy eyeliner. It takes me about three full seconds to register the fact that she's extremely pretty, and another three to realise that she's talking to me.

"You jerking yourself off in there, dickhead? 'Coz if you're getting outta the car, get the fuck out! If not, budge your fucking ass, my brother's looking for a goddamn park!"

Wow. Talk about a mouthful. She's worse than Kiba.

"Nah, I'm here to stay," I say, switching off the ignition to prove my point. "Sorry babe, your bro's gonna have to look elsewhere."

I wince as soon as the words step off my lips. _Babe?_ _Bro? Who the hell am I fooling?_

Not her, at any rate. She gives me the finger, snaps a "Fuck you", and stomps off.

What a great start to the evening, I think complacently to myself as I yank out my keys and shove them into my jeans pocket. I don't have my wallet, frankly because I had the feeling it was going to get stolen, and I hope no-one will steal the keys. The car's not worth enough to warrant it, but you never know.

The night air is chilly, slipping under my hoodie and shirt to run icy circles over my skin. I sigh, slamming the door closed and locking it. I haven't dressed to impress today – what's the point? I already have a girlfriend – but now I wish I'd chosen something warmer.

"N-Naruto?"

I turn.

"Hey Hinata," I say cheerfully, shoving my hands in my pockets to warm them. "Is Neji here tonight?"

She doesn't look at me, her fingers curled nervously around a white clutch bag.

"Yeah, he's gone to get something from the car. We just got here." Her light grey eyes are almost lost in the dim light, giving her the eerie look of having no pupils. "Do you... want to go inside?"

I smile at her. "Sure. How's everything been? I'm sorry I didn't talk much in Biology the other day, I was a bit distracted."

"It's okay. I didn't mind. I had Kiba."

Kiba. Haha. No doubt he tried to make some moves on her. I've always found it amusing how obvious he is about things. He might as well get a "Hinata can we just go out already" tattoed on his forehead, save himself some trouble.

"Kiba, eh?" I say, winking.

Her eyes widen. "Oh, no! N-no – not in that way, Naruto-kun – Kiba's just – a friend –"

She's quite unfortunately rescued at that moment by Kiba himself, who bounces up to us from across the lawn, his face split into a wide grin.

"Hinata! You made it! You look great. Did you do something with your hair?"

Haha. Hahaha. Good one, Kiba. Good one.

"N-no," she says, looking confused. "I just combed it."

"Thought so!" says Kiba happily. "Oh, Naruto! Hey, man, you made it too! 'Bout time, nuthead, Sakura's already gotten into the booze without you. I think she's in the toilet upstairs right now, generously donating her stomach contents to our sewerage system."

"Right. Charming. Better rescue her, then. Knight in shining armour and all."

We've reached the front gate, and the conversation slows as we battle through an endless mile of people. There's a lot of shoving and dropped glasses and swearing. There's weed in the air – I can smell it, it stings the inside of my nostrils like snow. Music thumps up mutely through the floorboards, a dull beat coming from somewhere in the right wing of the house. Despite the cold outside, it's boiling here. A girl giggles and, obviously drunk, drapes herself over me and then abruptly collapses. Somebody laughs. Nobody calls an ambulance.

Kiba's going to have a crapload to deal with in the morning.

I keep shoving, no longer bothering with "Sorry"s and "Excuse me"s. I could've said "Fire department" and no-one would have budged an inch anyway. By the time I've dragged myself into a free corner to breathe, Kiba and Hinata are nowhere in sight.

But then again, I'm short. Not much is ever in sight for me.

"Looking for someone?"

"Shit!" I yell, jumping a mile and looking around wildly. "What the fu –"

I realise who it is and my voice dies away rather lamely.

It's Sasuke. Though it doesn't look like him – it's as if someone had taken Chouji's words literally and dumped him in an entire vat of black paint. Black jeans, black hoodie, black choker, black eyes. On anyone else, I would've cracked up laughing; on him, it seems to fit. The look lends him a dangerous mystique that both attracts and repulses me.

"Emo enough there?" I say, hiding my discomfort behind the light banter.

He looks confused. "What?"

"I said – oh look, never mind. What are you doing here?"

His lip quirks. "I'm at a party. What do you think I'm doing here?"

Smart-ass.

"You get invited, or did you invite yourself?" I say, folding my arms. Somehow, I don't think Kiba would've asked him along. No offence.

"I know someone." His arms, braced with his hands in his pockets, arch gracefully from his hips. "Anyway, this is one dodgy party. No atmosphere at all. Just people standing around getting drunk."

"There wasn't supposed to be so many people," I bite back, leaping to Kiba's defence. "And isn't that what you Americans do anyway in your spare time? Get drunk?" (**A/N: Naruto's POV, not mine. I'm not anti-American. Just letting you know.**)

He snorts, looking around. The paleness of his skin leaps out from the semi-darkness.

"We don't just get drunk, Uzumaki, we get _laid_. Not much chance of that happening here, though."

"What, 'cause Australian chicks have higher standards?" I pout at him mockingly, widening my eyes. "Oh, such a pity, Sasuke. Poor baby. Don't worry, Mummy will change your diaper soon and give you a lollipop."

He stares at me, before finally looking away and rolling his eyes. "You're so stupid."

"That's my job!" I chirp back at him, treating him to my highest-wattage grin. "Anyway, I'm gonna go find Sakura. Catch you later."

I don't get more than two paces into the swarming crowd when he joins me. I look at him in surprise.

"Quit following me, buddy! Don't you have drinks to spike or something?"

"I'm bored. And we Americans don't need to resort to drink-spiking, the girls recognise quality when they see it."

I'm left with no doubts as to what _quality_ he might be referring to. He's smirking and looking down, for starters.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. I get the point. The girls just love you. And I suppose that's why you Americans are all so keen to jump ship to Australia, then."

"Don't get a big head, Uzumaki. We come here simply because the girls are cheaper. One dollar American is one and a half Australian, after all. More bang for your buck. Or _our_ buck, rather."

I turn – not as easy as it sounds, when you can barely move – and slog him in the shoulder, laughing.

"Go away," I say. "I have to go find Sakura. I don't have time to swap crap with you."

He sobers slightly, his eyes darkening at the fringes. "Why, what is your obsession with this Sakura chick?"

"She's my girlfriend, dumbass. Ugh, shit, sorry, didn't mean to step on your foot –"

"You have a girlfriend?" Sasuke asks, as a girl with blonde streaks and a miniskirt swears at me and attempts to stab me with her stiletto.

"I said sorry already – fuck, that hurt! Jesus! I said sorry!"

"Sakura's your girlfriend?" Sasuke asks again, raising his voice a little.

"Yes, dammit, that's what I just said! Ouch, crap, that'll leave a bruise. Gah. Bitch."

I hobble the remaining way to the stairs, with no kind feelings towards any kind of shoe worn by the female race. Weapons of mass destruction, the whole lot of them. Bush should turn his attentions to them next, after he's done pulverising Iraq. DWDFF: Declaring War on Dangerous Feminine Footwear.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

"Well la-di-dah," I snap irritably. Still in pain. "I wasn't aware I had to notify you of the fact. Have a cry."

"Maybe I will," he says sulkily.

"Well don't do it here, then. You'll wreck my reputation."

I laugh, shaking my head as Kiba pins Sasuke with a death-glare. He's arrived with a vodka in each hand, obviously with the mission of getting me hammered. Well, guess Kiba will always be Kiba. The alcohol is, however, momentarily forgotten: Sasuke's here, and that changes things.

The sulk goes out of Sasuke's eyes instantly, replaced by a cool superiority.

"Your reputation, Inuzuka? I didn't realise it could go any lower. Not the way this party is going."

"I'm sorry, were you even invited, dickhead?" Kiba retorts.

"I don't need an invitation," Sasuke counters smoothly. "You should be honoured I'm here at all."

Kiba snorts. "Your Mummy know you're up this late, Sasuke? Have you missed your bedtime story already?"

I'm tempted to let this go its course – Kiba comes up with the best insults sometimes – but I need to get upstairs to Sakura, and this isn't helping things.

"Look, you two fight it out, alright? I'm going upstairs to check on Sakura. Don't go at it too hard though, Kiba, or you'll have to clean the blood out of the carpets tomorrow morning. Damn nuisance. Trust me."

Sasuke looks at me as if I'm mad. I give him a thumbs-up and, before Kiba can shout out a "What the fuck, man?", I'm already halfway up the stairs.

* * *

Sakura's flat on Kiba's bed, face-down, her pink hair loose over her shoulders. It reaches her shoulder blades, sticking to her sweat-slicked skin; she's not moving. Must have had at least two vodkas, at a guess. Maybe three and then a beer.

"Sakura?"

No answer. Then again, I hadn't expected one.

"Sakura."

"She's out like a light," offers Kiba, sliding into the room after me and smirking at Sakura's back. His hands are empty. "Had one vodka and bam, down for the count."

"Bet it was you who gave her that one vodka," I say. I sit down next to her on the bed, combing some of the hair out of her face. I think she's asleep.

"Could've been. I just knew she couldn't handle it. Thought it'd be funny."

"Yeah, 'cause watching girls pass out is just hilarious."

He squints at my sarcasm. "Hey, man, not my fault you weren't there. Next time you just need to come earlier if you wanna catch your girlfriend giggling and trying to pole dance. Fucking hilarious."

I whirl on him.

"She _what_?!"

He shrugs, grinning. I catch his canines: they glint next to his lips. "I'm fucking serious, she tried to pole dance. Paris Hilton moment, I swear. Didn't think she was that kinda girl, but meh, go figure. I think Shikamaru got it on camera, I'll get him to send you a copy if you want."

"Oh God. I think I need to get her home."

"What, you gonna drive her home?! Now?! You're not serious."

"She's smashed, Kiba! I'm not gonna leave her alone here where some idiot may peep in, find her all nice and asleep, and then take advantage. If this was Hinata, you'd drive her home too."

"Hinata wouldn't get smashed in the first place."

I roll my eyes. "That's not the point, Kiba."

He huffs, throwing up his hands. I catch a smile on his face, but the lights are out and I can't be sure. Kiba's always pulling my leg.

"Fine, I'll get Lee to drive her home. He lives in Brookfield, and he's leaving the party anyway."

Lee? I don't know a Lee.

"I'm not gonna let some random drive Sakura –"

"He's not a random, he's Lee. Look, just don't worry, alright? Sakura's gonna be fine. With you as her beau, she doesn't have a choice. Stop fussing like a girl."

"I'm not –"

"What you need is a drink, my friend," he interrupts, clapping me on the shoulder and yanking me up by the elbow. "Relax a bit, this is standard procedure. Lee's a good guy, he goes to our school, he's in my Chem class. Not that kinda guy." He frowns. "A bit hyper, but that's not necessarily a bad thing."

I sigh, giving up. "Fine. Okay. I'll take your word for it, Kiba."

"Of course you will. Now I have the privilege of getting you drunk too."

"I don't need you to get me drunk, I'm perfectly capable of getting hammered by myself, thank-you," I smirk, shoving my hands into my jeans pockets as he steers me out of his room. A certain guilt stirs in my stomach – getting smashed the day after a funeral? – but I push it away. "Getting drunk is my expertise."

"Tch, keep up the tough talk, Naruto. Keep it up. Maybe tomorrow, pigs will fly."

* * *

I can't find anyone. This place is so crammed that even when I stand on a chair, all I see is a sea of heads. Once, I think I recognise Ino's blonde ponytail, but Kiba has the lights going all over the place and I miss it when I look again. I sigh, feeling lonely and a little frustrated. Kiba's gone hunting for Hinata again (was there ever a more determined Romeo?) and I'm just standing there, thinking to myself that even Sasuke's company is better than this, when –

"Hey, baby."

Holy shit.

It's Sasuke.

Did my ears just fail me? Did I just hear –

"You look a little lost."

I squint a little, and relief washes from my head to my toes. Not Sasuke, thank God. But someone who looks almost identical; dark hair; dark eyes; even the same dark clothes, but he has on a tank top that exposes his midriff and his jeans ride low on his hips, baring his hip bones. Definitely not Sasuke.

"What did you just call me?" I say, slightly aggressively, staring at his jeans. I can't help wondering how he manages to walk without them falling down.

He smiles, but there's something artificial in it – as if he's just fumbled around in a bag and pulled on a mask.

"I called you baby. Why, what's the matter? Can't stomach it?"

"I'm straight." I make an effort to push past him, but he throws an arm around my waist and pulls me back. "Hey, buddy, what the fuck?"

"I said, you look a little lost."

"And I said, I'm straight, so unless you want a foot up your ass, I suggest you leave me alone."

"A foot?" He frowns. "Not exactly what I had planned. Wrong region of the anatomy, babe."

You can't be serious.

"You're wasting your time," I say. "I just told you, I'm straight."

"Nice try. But I saw you eyeing that guy before. If you're straight, I'd eat my –"

"Eyeing that guy? What guy? Look, just fuck off, alright?"

He smirks and blocks me again. "That guy with the black hair. You ditched him at the stairs, but I could tell you were drooling. He looks a bit like me."

"What, Sasuke? You must be kidding me. The guy's a damn bastard. Now get outta the way."

I manage to shove past him and plough into the crowds, determined to lose him. He doesn't let up, though; he's following me closer than my own shadow.

"Hey, no need to be so rude, babe. Don't you even want to know my name?"

"No," I say flatly.

He chuckles as if I've just told a mildly entertaining joke. "You're good at playing hard-to-get, aren't you?"

A guy on my left looks at me with interest; for a moment, I catch his brown eyes gleaming curiously at me, and then I've pushed past him and I'm in the right wing of Kiba's house, just outside the dance floor. The music throbs thickly like syrup through the air, pulsing from the eight speakers.

Tank-top's still behind me. Irritated, I push towards the bar, desperate to lose him.

"Where are you going?"

"None of your business," I snap at him under my breath.

"How is it not my business? If I'm gonna sleep with you, I gotta know where you're going."

Okay. That's it. I've had enough.

"For starters, numbface, I'm not gonna sleep with you. Even if I wasn't straight, you'd be the last on my To-Do list. Second, I'm sick of you following me, so if you don't mind –"

"Naruto?"

Well, fuck.

"Shut up, Sasuke," I say irritably, not looking at him. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"

Before I can say anything else, I feel a hand on my shoulder; Sasuke's using me to pull himself up into a standing position. I wonder briefly why he needs me for support, but then his breath flits past my cheek and I catch the tell-tale scent of alcohol.

Great. A drunk Sasuke. How brilliant. What I've always wanted.

Not.

"Who are you?" he says lowly, squinting past me at Tank-top. The words come out clearly enough, but the way he's swaying – I can tell by his grip on my shoulder – betrays him.

"I can deal with this, Sasuke," I hiss at him out of the corner of my mouth.

He ignores me. "Who are you?" he says again.

Tank-top arches a brow. "My name's Sai, and that's my property you're touching just now."

Sasuke's eyes narrow, and his grip on me tightens. I wince. He's almost certainly left bruises, but right now is probably not the best time to bring that up.

"_Your_ property?" His voice comes out as a dangerous drawl. "I dispute that."

"You 'dispute' that? What, we in law school now?"

"Look," I interrupt, in one last desperate bid to rescue the situation, "Sai or whatever your name is, just fuck off, alright? I'm not into you. I'm straight. So just leave."

Neither Sasuke nor Sai makes the slightest move to suggest they heard my words at all. I might as well be a toy or a twenty-dollar-note they're fighting over.

Humiliation burns up my cheeks as I suddenly realise that the face-off has drawn a crowd.

"You're Sasuke, aren't you?" Sai says, after a moment of mutual glaring. "Well well. Frankly, I thought you had better taste in guys, Naruto."

A few of the onlookers clap and hoot. A girl in a sequinned top giggles.

"I'm _straight_, for the final time!" I say, exasperated. This is just going round in circles. "What part of the word 'straight' don't you understand?!"

"Shut up, Naruto."

Sasuke is really starting to get on my nerves. I open my mouth to say so, but Sai beats me to it.

"Are you with him?" he asks, aiming the question at Sasuke but jerking his head at me.

Sasuke says 'yes', at the precise moment that I say 'no'.

"Fight!" someone yells from the crowd; the chant is taken up by a few others, and the girls laugh. Fight? I doubt Sasuke can even stand in his present condition, let alone fight. My cheeks heat up again. I can't believe this.

"I don't like guys!" I yell. "I'm straight! I have a girlfriend! Now both of you, fuck off!"

"In denial," Sai drones without looking at me.

"Are you sure that's not you?" I mumble back, baring my teeth.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on over here, man?"

I've never been more relieved to hear Kiba's voice. As he shoves his way through the crowd, with Hinata – looking stunned – in tow, I can almost hear angels singing in the background. Even the chants die away to a half-hearted mumble as he arrives on the scene.

"What's with this yell – Naruto?!"

"Hey," I say, giving a weak smile. "How's it goin', cowboy?"

Sasuke's fingers dig into my skin again and I fall silent. I chance a glance at him; to my surprise, there's no hint of drunkenness in his dark eyes, only a sharp sort of fury, like a hurricane trapped in a glass jar.

"Naruto?!" Kiba demands loudly, a confused anger in his voice. "What's going on?!"

Sai shifts. To my surprise, he's smiling again; that fake, plastered smile. He takes a step back, and his eyes – so like Sasuke's – flick to Kiba's furious face.

"No need to have a heart attack, Inuzuka. I'm signing out already."

"Who are _you_?" Kiba retorts pointedly.

"Doesn't matter, I'm leaving anyway." He pauses, and looks at me. "If you're ever looking for a good time, Naruto, just remember, I'm available."

He winks; I resist the urge to smash his face in. From behind me, Sasuke growls.

And then in a moment the boy named Sai is gone, melted into the crowd; the tension leaves in a single _whoosh_ and chat breaks out again, coupled with laughter and the general dispersal of people. I don't move, my head lowered in embarrassment as the onlookers drift away – some to the dance floor, others to the bar on my left – and then Kiba's right before me, waving a hand in front of my eyes.

"Hey, man, what the fuck was with that?!"

"Nothing," I say, attempting to shrug it off. "The guy hit on me and Sasuke got all pissed off. No big deal."

"No big deal? You guys looked like you were getting ready for a brawl."

"Sasuke's drunk," I say by way of explanation.

It's then that I realise that his vice-like grip is no longer on my shoulder; I turn, and to my surprise, there's no-one there. He's gone.

And then I look down.

"Oh, you're not serious," I groan. He's flat on the floor – guess the alcohol got to him after all. I suppose it was a lucky thing to have happened when no-one else was watching, otherwise his head wouldn't be the only thing hurting afterwards. His pride would have taken a good battering as well.

Kiba follows my gaze and rolls his eyes. "Ugh. Can't hold his liquor, I suppose. Always knew he was a girl."

"W-we should probably get him h-home," stutters Hinata; her voice is unexpected and I almost jump. "N-Naruto-kun, do you know where he lives?"

I shake my head mutely, and then my eyes widen. "Oh, hang on. I think I do. He told me he was staying at Kakashi's place."

"Kakashi?" says Kiba sceptically. "You mean, Hatake's place? Why's he staying with a teacher?"

"No idea," I say honestly.

We stare at him for a while longer.

"I'll call a cab," says Kiba finally. "Naruto, you stay here with him, make sure he doesn't get run over or something."

"Run over?" I quip with a snort. "By what? A rogue shot glass?"

He ignores me.

"Hinata, you go upstairs – I have a computer on in the study. Get onto Google and see if you can find Hatake's address somewhere. Otherwise the bastard here" – he kicks Sasuke to make his point – "isn't going anywhere anytime soon."

They leave, and I look back down at said bastard. He's still curled up on his side, his hair falling over his face; no response to Kiba's kick at all. I can't help thinking that, bet or no bet, he doesn't seem too concerned for someone who's supposed to be fearing for his life. I could stab him right now, for instance, and the world would be none the wiser.

Well, can't leave him there, I suppose. He might get trodden on. Not that he'd notice.

With a sigh I bend down, looping his arm around my neck. He groans a little at that, and his eyes flicker open; he's still dazed.

"I – Naruto?"

"Up, teme," I answer, and tug him forcefully to his feet. He follows the movement clumsily, lurching against me. "Can you stand?"

"I don't think so."

"Sit down, then. Kiba's calling you a cab."

He collapses onto a nearby barstool, then promptly buries his head in his hands. His eyeliner's smudging – his face looks like an abstract black-and-white painting. Despite myself, I'm starting to feel sorry for him.

"A water, please," I say to the bartender, with a meaningful glance at Sasuke.

"Naruto..."

I turn to face him, resting my arm absently on the countertop. "What?"

"I'm not drunk."

"Like hell you aren't," I say. "You're going home, at any rate. Where do you live? Hinata's gone to look up your address."

That produces a reaction – an unanticipated one. He lunges forward, almost knocking over his chair, and grabs me by the collar; for an insane moment I think he's about to kiss me, but his lips stop short.

"She's gone to look up my what?"

I can't help it; my eyes drift to his, and I'm jolted again at the sober edge in them. Maybe that drunken collapse was feigned, I think wildly. He certainly looks alert to me.

"Your address. To take you home."

"Why?"

Why? Why? 'Cause you're fucking drunk, dumbass!

"You need to ask?" I say aloud instead, deciding not to make him angry.

He pauses. It's a very long pause: the seconds stretch by like hours. He's so close, I can feel the heat of him – his breath, his scent, his presence; they press against the edge of my mind like solid objects. His eyes rest on mine and for a strange, timeless moment I wonder why they are so dark, so soulful, like a campfire burning low, the smoke transient and twisting upward in shadowy spires. Was it like this with Gaara? Did I feel for Gaara this same fascination, this impossible cryptic tug on my being, that Sasuke seems to draw out in me so easily? And then Sakura – in the context of this, what do I feel for her? No – I don't even know. No-one knows. Not me, not Sasuke, not anyone. Against Sasuke's eyes, Sakura's smile pales and fades. Against Sasuke's eyes, I cannot even remember with certainty her face.

"Sasuke," I say. "I..."

I don't know what to follow it up with and I stop. His eyes reach into me, seeking me out. I'm falling – I don't know where I am anymore – there is just his gaze, his even gaze that probes deep into me, and his closeness...

He kisses me.

There is no roughness; nothing to remind me of Gaara. And yet it is not soft; nothing to remind me of Sakura either. I close my eyes, not knowing what else to do; my feelings are as alien to me as if I were an outsider, standing a little to the side, watching myself kiss Sasuke. His hand leaves my collar and moves to the back of my head, pulling me closer, his taste consuming me like shadow.

_Sasuke..._

And then he's up, tugging at my arm – I let him drag me, dazed, unfocused – the bartender cries out a "Wait! Your water!" but I don't hear it, not really. The bodies pressing against me; the stifling lack of air; and then the staircase, and he's pulling me up it, his eyes desperate. Round the corner – two girls giggling – we pass them, another corner again, and he slams me against the wall and kisses me again, hard, so hard I can taste the frustration in his mouth.

"Naruto," he whispers when he pulls away. "Oh God, I can't do this, but –"

And then a door, and he's tugging me, and a room – Kiba's room, I think vaguely – and then he's on me, my back against the sheets of Kiba's bed, where Sakura lay just hours before – just hours! It feels like years – his body warm, his breath warm, and his eyes blazing.

"Sasuke," I say again; but this time he doesn't care.

* * *

**A/N: So, whaddya think? Of the SasuNaru especially, I want to know your thoughts! Trust me, I won't leave it hanging like this; next Chapter continues this little escapade in Kiba's room. It won't turn out the way you think it will... :cheeky grin:**

**I haven't focused really on what Sasuke and Naruto are doing to each other in this Chapter, mainly because Naruto is still a little confused as to his feelings for Sasuke and everything is just... well... muddled. Anyway, I hope you liked it. :cross fingers:**

**Also, I had the Chapter 1 of Black Rose all written up nicely and then I accidentally deleted it... WAAAH!! :explodes into tears: So updates on that will take a while because I have to rewrite it... Damn thing. Gah. **

**Review, please! Thoughts, comments, ideas, criticism – anything goes! As long as it's in the form of a review! Reviews for the last chapter were painfully low, so come on, people! Please?? :puppy eyes:**

**Loving my fans,**

**That.Other.Boleyn.Girl**


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